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BOUDOIR MIRRORS 
OF WASHINGTON 




© Harris & Ewing 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS 
OF WASHINGTON 



ANONYMOUS 




with Sixteen Portraits 



THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY 
cmcAOO PHILADELPHIA Toronto 



> ' / 



(.uv^-^ 



Copyright, 1923 
The John C. Winston Company 

Copyright, 1923 
Women's News Service, Ino. 






Printed in the U.S. A. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 11 

Alice Roosevelt Longworth 17 

Defying Convention 23 

The Hatless Woman in the Senate Gallery. 26 

Entpr Nick 29 

Alice the Politician 36 

Mrs. Woodrow Wilson 41 

The Woodrow Wilson Language 47 

Butlers and Cave Dwellers 52 

The Contrasts of March the Fourth 56 

The Tongues of Washington 57 

The Penalties of Greatness 60 

Florence Kling Harding 63 

Her Finger on the Pulse 67 

^' Just Folks" 70 

The Hospitable Hardings 72 

Four Thousand Handclasps 76 

Mrs. Calvin Coolidge 82 

Real Boys 85 

Smiling Through 88 

Steering a Safe Course 90 

Abolishing the Bustle 94 

Burdens and Beatitudes 96 

Thomas D. Schall, the Blind Congressman 98 

Mrs. Thomas D. Schall 98 

5 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Social Publicity 106 

Mrs. William E. Borah 114 

Mrs. Medill McCormick 124 

Mrs. Miles Poindexter 131 

Cabinet Wives 140 

Mrs. Charles Hughes 142 

Mrs. John Weeks 145 

Mrs. Henry Wallace 146 

Mrs. Edwin Denby 151 

Mrs. Albert Fall 152 

Limitation of Social Armaments 157 

Mrs. Stephen Elkins 162 

Washington's Diplomatic Set 165 

Madame Riano 166 

Madame Sze 168 

Madame Jusserand 171 

Princess Bibesco 173 

Glimpses of the Great 175 

Lady Geddes 175 

The Floral Offensive, or The Battle 

OF THE Buds 184 

Ailsa Mellon 187 

Calling Days in the Capital 194 

Supreme Court Wives 202 

Mrs. William Howard Taft 202 

Mrs. Oliver Wendell Holmes 207 

6 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mrs. Louis Brandeis 208 

Mrs. George Sutherland 210 

Wives of Senate Lame Ducks 211 

Mrs. Truman Newberry 211 

Mrs. Atlee Pomerene 212 

Mrs. Joseph Sherman Frelinghuysen 215 

Mrs. Ira Clifton Copley 216 

Mrs. Harry New 216 

Mrs. William Calder 219 

The Social Lobby 221 

Mrs. John B. Henderson 227 

Dinner Delays 229 

Mrs, Key Pittman 233 

Women in Congress 236 

Jeannette Rankin 236 

Alice Robertson 237 

Winnifred Mason Huck 238 

Mae Ella Nolan 240 

Mrs. Herbert Hoover 244 

Back to Main Street 255 

Mrs. Frank Wheeler Mondell 255 

Mrs. Philip Pitt Campbell 257 

Miss Volstead 258 

Mrs. Wells Goodykoontz 259 

Mrs. Edgar Clarence Ellis 259 

Mrs. William Wallace Chalmers 260 

7 



ILLUSTRATIONS 
Mrs. Calvin Coolidge Frontispiece 

PAGE 

Mrs. Nicholas Longworth. 19 

Mrs. Woodrow Wilson 43 

Mrs. Warren G. Harding 65 

Mrs. William E. Borah 117 

Mrs. Miles Poindexter 133 

Mrs. Henry Wallace 147 

Mrs. Edwin Denby 153 

Madame Sze 169 

Lady Geddes 179 

Miss Ailsa Mellon 189 

Mrs. William Howard Taft 203 

Mrs. Joseph Frelinghuysen 214 

Mrs. Wiij^iam Calder 218 

Mrs. Herbert Hoover 245 

Princess Cantacuzene 261 



INTRODUCTION 

I WONDER if I dare! 
There is so much unrecorded history in 
Washington — inside history — so many unre- 
lated facts; the social ascent, the political glissade, 
the reason WHY ! 

No, there isn't an ounce of malice in me. My 
soul oozes sweet sympathy, yes, and my claws are 
carefully manicured, but 

I wonder if I dare face the task! However, it 
will be great fun rummaging in the past, the near- 
past, and revealing the present; holding the 
Mirror to Facts — in their curling pins, and with- 
out powder on their noses. 

Wasn't it George Eliot who said, "The happy 
woman, like the happy nation, is the one without 
a history"? 

That's probably true; I don't know. But 
there's a lot of history that hasn't yet been pub- 
lished; it isn't all in books. 

Take the Cabinet wives of this administration! 
Individually and collectively, you couldn't call 
them vivid personalities. They don't scintillate 

11 



INTRODUCTION 

and dazzle. No need to wear smoked glasses 
when you meet them. Not a bit! They were 
born, married, and came to Washington, because 
their husbands got Cabinet appointments. Most 
of them are now busy minding their own business. 
It's a useful, but not a spectacular, occupation. 

Not one of them has been caught bootlegging 
and dope peddling, and there isn't a movie star 
in the bunch. They don't openly break the com- 
mandments or conventions, nor do they publicly 
advocate dress reform or birth control. They 
don't hunt cults or isms, coin new words, create 
new fashions, or go to the White House in bathing 
suits. To write a movie scenario about any one 
of them, would be like trying to give a dinner 
party off a caraway seed. 

Yet haven't you noticed how interesting dull 
people can be — if they are only dull enough? I 
don't mean actually to suggest that the Cabinet 
wives are dull— and there is a lot of fun among 
the foolish. You can strike more stars from the 
rough edges of human nature than you can get 
from a meteor — if it's rough enough, and there's 
friction. 

Sometimes people take themselves seriously, and 
it is quite a mistake. There is Mrs. Francis 

12 



INTRODUCTION 

Parkinson Keyes, writer and busy Senator's wife. 
She suffers from a serious personal dignity, and 
sense of importance. She doesn't get half as much 
fun out of life as Mrs. Poindexter. Yes, the one 
who has been indiscreet, and has been rewarded 
by a diplomatic post. Mrs. Poindexter never 
went to a party that she didn't come home chuck- 
ling over something that somebody had done — 
something wrong, of course. 

''And what did you do?" I asked her one day. 

"Heaven knows!" she answered. "But I hope 
they got as much fun out of me as I got out of 
them." 

A man goes down in history for the greatness of 
his courage in war, or prowess in politics. But 
when a woman keeps fifty hungry people from 
eating the decorations while the honor guest is 
found, sobered, and dressed for the dinner she 
wears no laurels for that achievement. 

While a man is pounding on the entrance door 
to the Inner Circle, his wife is quietly oiling the 
social key, which will gain admittance more surely. 
I'll tell you about that key, later on. 

The parry and thrust on the Senate floor is 
reported in the press, but there is less blood spilt 
here than in the flight of javelins across the tea 

13 



INTRODUCTION 

tables. But this does not make a headliner — not 
yet. Just wait! 

I have Hved in the Capital so long, and have 
seen the rise and fall of so many administrations — 
and people — that looking back is like exploring an 
attic. 

I remember so many women when they first 
paddled on the outer edge of the social puddle. 
Now they can float alone — without even wings. 
The stumbling newcomer who tripped over tradi- 
tions now considers herself the social arbiter. I 
particularly remember one Senator's wife; she 
learned the road by bitter experience. Well, she 
ought to know it. Now, she seems to have ac- 
quired a sort of plush finish. 

When I see Alice Roosevelt Longworth come 
into the Senate gallery, and fling aside her hat, I 
always seem to recall the day she stood on her 
head to convince a woman that exercise was the 
best cure for lumbago. 

Do you remember the social launching of Mrs. 
Woodrow Wilson Number Two? Did you ever 
see behind the smoke screen which always protects 
the First Lady of the Land? 

But if I let my pen run riot now, I shall get 
most terribly mixed up. I think I will take them 

14 



INTRODUCTION 

one by one, or in groups, the official, diplomatic, 
and social people, who have hit the high spots in 
private, as well as in public. I am claiming this 
as a privileged occasion, and if sometimes I turn 
my Mirror suddenly and catch people unexpectedly 
in their mental negligee, well — I will leave the 
verdict to you. 



15 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

TlKE Alice Longworth — she's a singular 
character, that's what she is — singular. 
There was a time when she was considered 
wild, unconventional, daring. Perhaps she was. 
Yet I would rather call her singular. 

As a child she was singularly shy. You would 
scarcely believe that, but she was. As a girl she 
was singularly impulsive. No one doubts that. 
As a woman she is still singular; she retains her 
individuality, those forceful characteristics" in- 
herited from her father, which set her a little apart. 
Few women in America, outside the active 
workers in some public cause, have focused public 
interest to such an extent as Alice. The reflections 
of her Boudoir Mirror show — but you shall see 
them for yourself in a moment. 

Poseur? Certainly not. What she does, uncon- 
ventional though it may be, is not inspired by a 
desire to shock, so much as an expression of self- 
determination, a vigorous protest against irksome 
customs and restrictions. Her attitude is one of 
supreme indifference to public opinion. 

17 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Other people may model their modes and man- 
ners according to established precedents, but Alice 
Longworth will leap the social barrier with the 
same agility with which she performs athletic 
stunts, such as standing on her head. I must tell 
you about that. 

One day a woman sat miserably talking about 
her health. She detailed her symptoms and their 
reactions, her sufferings and the heroic mart3Tdom 
which never permitted her pain to dim the happi- 
ness of her home. You know the sort of woman! 

"Have you ever tried standing on your head?" 
asked Alice, leaning forward and betraying a 
sudden interest. 

The woman looked at her for a moment, uncer- 
tain whether or not to take offense. But there 
was not a flicker of a smile on that Roosevelt face. 

"It acts like a charm," she said. "Here, lend 
me a safety pin." 

She secured the hem of her skirt between her 
knees, and taking a cushion, placed it on the floor. 

The hjTDochondriac watched with bewildered 
interest. 

Alice Longworth put her head on the cushion, 
and shot her legs aloft, where she remained poised 
perfectly. Standing on her head, and kicking at 

18 




© Harris & Eiring 



MRS. NICHOLAS LONGWORTH 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

the chandeliers was a sort of daily exercise 
with her. 

The woman gasped, and looked at the faces of 
the other guests. Oh, yes, there were quite a 
number present. They all knew Alice, and being 
deeply rooted in respectable orthodoxy, they 
envied the woman her daring, because she could 
do it and get away with it. No other woman in 
that room could have stood on her head and re- 
tained such perfect equilibrium of body or com- 
posure of mind. 

"There, you try that every day, and you won't 
have lumbago or heart trouble,'* and she stood 
erect, returned the safety pin, and resumed her 
seat with leisurely ease. 

All the world knows, of course, that Alice was 
one of the pioneers in smoking, and left a trail of 
ashes and smoldering disgust through conserva- 
tive circles. The disapproval of the dames was 
to her like the ash, and she flicked it aside as 
meriting no more consideration. She was not 
deliberately rude, but rather delighted in the 
shocked look of her elders. She came and went 
like a merry flash, and skated skillfully over very 
thin ice. Alice Roosevelt had many of the priv- 
ileges of a princess, without any of the restrictions. 

21 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

One night Mrs. Leitner gave a party. It 
was a large and gorgeous affair, with diplomats 
and officials and titles there. Oh, this was some 
years ago, before the turkey trot and cigarettes 
had been accepted in the Best Society. 

Few women were smoking then, and those who 
did, kept it dark. Madame Riano had acquired 
the art in Spain. She had been over with the 
ambassador, and had fallen into line with her 
adopted countrywomen. 

In the middle of Mrs. Leither's ball, Alice 
Longworth took it into her head to give an exhibi- 
tion of the new dance, the turkey trot. But to 
add zest to the performance, she lit a cigarette 
first, and smoked while she danced. 

She sailed down the middle of the room, puffing 
little jets of smoke at the ceiling, to the horror of 
the women. I forget who the man was who danced 
with her that night. 

As one woman said, "Alice looked like a steam 
engine coming down a crimped track.'" 

Society was shocked; unusually shocked. Even 
the press was shocked. Such behavior at a private 
ball! Not alone Washington papers beat the air 
in protest, but New York made this notorious 
young woman a headliner, and the episode was 

22 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

related in full, as a horrible example of modernism 
run riot. 

"Now isn't that the cutest story you ever 
heard?" Alice said, laughing, when she read the 
shocking details of her conduct, tucked, frilled, 
and flounced, and set forth for the public. 

Defying Convention 

I suppose most of you remember Count Cassini, 
who was Russian Ambassador during the Roose- 
velt regime. He appeared in Washington accom- 
panied by a young and beautiful lady, known as 
"The Countess Cassini". 

It soon became known that she wasn't a 
countess — that she wasn't any sort of Cassini. 
Old Washington, sedate, mid-Victorian Washing- 
ton, put up its lorgnette and then dropped it. 
The alleged Countess became invisible to the 
naked eye. There was merely a hole in the air 
where she stood — nothing more. 

Official Washington looked at each other behind 
its feather fans, and said: 

"Well, really, my dear — But one must draw 
the line somewhere!" 

So they drew it at the Countess. 

The Countess, however, made a singular appeal 

23 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

to Alice Roosevelt. She's that sort. If she likes 
people, she doesn't ask for their birth certificate 
and demand their marriage lines. 

Perhaps it was the adventurous spirit, the quest 
for big game, the sense of danger, but whatever 
the bond, the Countess Cassini and the Princess 
Alice became inseparable companions. "Princess 
Alice" was a familiar press title for the White 
House daughter during her father's regime. It 
wasn't her regal bearing, however, which induced 
reporters so to designate her, but rather her 
royal indifference. 

What did these two do? Hus-s-s-sh! What 
didn't they do? you might ask. 

Hurdle racing was one popular pastime. After 
dinner they would arrange the ottoman, chairs, 
and other suitable furniture at intervals round the 
room, and have a hurdle race. 

If you backed Alice, you always backed a favor- 
ite, for she generally came in the winner. She 
didn't let skirts impede her progress by hanging 
down too long. A hitch or two, and away she 
went. Oh, they were gay times at the old Russian 
Embassy in those days! There is no doubt that 
Alice had a high old time, and if she missed any- 
thing, it was because she hadn't heard of it. 

24 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

The Russian Ambassador finally rushed back to 
Russia, and returned with the announcement that 
his fair companion had been adopted. Yes, 
adopted. Washington matrons didn't even blush 
watermelon pink, for some of them, even then, 
were well, er — nearly sophisticated. 

But in those pre-war days, trial marriages hadn't 
been invented (though to my mind all marriages 
are more or less of a trial), and the Russian after- 
thought didn't mend matters. Washington still 
refused to accept the Countess, though it didn't 
fail to see the fair Alice at her side, and to say — 
well, more than its prayers. But Alice, of course, 
was always socially acceptable. 

Some of us here remember, not long after, that 
one of the Sunday papers carried a highly flavored, 
largely illustrated story of the hapless Countess, 
who, it seems, is now living in retirement some- 
where in Italy, earning a precarious living by taking 
in plain sewing — or does she go out by the day? 
Now, if she had come to Washington, Alice might 
have been able to divert considerable custom her 
way. 

Not that clothes loom largely on her horizon. 
Neither as Alice Roosevelt, nor as Mrs. Long- 
worth, has she been absorbed in dress. 

25 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

The Hatless Woman in the Senate Gallery 

Any day you may see Alice Longworth come 
into the Senate. In winter a heavy beaver coat 
envelops a figure still slim and graceful. Her hat, 
no matter how becoming, is flung instantly aside, 
and shows her hair growing rather prettily around 
her forehead, and knotted at the back. It is the 
same in the few private homes where she visits. 
Off comes her hat the minute she is inside the door. 
She hasn't much hair, but it is pretty, and there 
is scarcely a gray streak in it. 

Alice has big, dreamy eyes; at least they look 
dreamy until her interest is roused. Then they 
light up with vivid intelligence. Her skin is 
smooth and fair, and has no suggestion of the 
beauty parlor. In fact, she has no artifice of that 
kind, and her charm, though definite, is elusive. 

Did you know that ''Alice Blue" was named 
for her? She was always very partial to dull blues, 
and this shade became very popular during her 
residence at the White House. Since then, of 
course, we have had the Harding Blue and the 
Princess Mary Blue. Now we are getting a brand 
of Tutankhamen Blue. Well, every blue has its 
day! 

When rubberneck tourists come chattering and 

26 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

clattering into the Senate chamber, and the barker 
points out the persons and places of interest, he 
has only to indicate the hatless woman leaning 
forward in the Senate gallery, listening intently. 

"That is Mrs. Nicholas Longworth, daughter of 
Theodore Roosevelt," he says. 

Interest in the Senate instantly wanes. All 
eyes turn to the Roosevelt daughter, and there is 
admiration, almost reverence at times, in the 
eager look from this mixed group. 

In many ways she is like her father. Over and 
over again I have watched her, but she shows no 
embarrassment; in fact, she seems absolutely 
unconscious of this scrutiny. 

Interest in politics has always been very real 
with Alice, and she has found it an absorbing 
topic. An interesting debate in the Senate was a 
lure she could not resist. 

Not long after her marriage, I think it was, she 
was giving a big luncheon party. In the m.iddle of 
it, some one called her up to say that an important 
issue had suddenly developed in the Senate. 

Grabbing a hat, and hurling an abrupt apology 
at her guests, Alice left the astonished crowd to 
finish the party without a hostess. 

Why, even last year, Alice went to New York 

27 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

for Christmas, with the intention of staying over 
New Year's Day. No sooner had the Economic 
Conference proposed by Senator Borah crowded 
the murders off the first page, than she came home. 
PoHtics comes first with her always. She sat in 
the gallery listening, her languid eyes alight. 

"Hullo, I thought you were staying in New 
York until after New Year's Day," one woman 
said to her. 

"Fancy staying in New York, with all this 
happening here," and she flung out a gesture 
indicating the Senate floor, where a wordy con- 
flict was taking place. 

Alice was only two days old when her mother 
died. Her grandmother, Mrs. Martha Roosevelt, 
you know, died the same day, and the double 
tragedy overshadowed the arrival of this vital 
little person. Her aunt, Anna Roosevelt, who 
was afterwards Mrs. Cowles, took charge of the 
baby until Theodore Roosevelt married Edith 
Carew in London. But Theodore Roosevelt was 
always particularly fond of Alice; she had a special 
comer in his heart, and there was a rare camarad- 
erie between them. 

I think it was back in the early seventies that 
some one divided the inhabitants of the United 

28 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

States into three groups — saints, sinners, and the 
Beecher family. A more recent version would 
have substituted the Roosevelt family, for pre- 
sumably they have always been a law unto them- 
selves. Yet not outlaws. 

I remember a dinner at the White House one 
night. It was the first time I had been a guest of 
President Roosevelt. Alice wore a dress of her 
namesake blue, and long white kid gloves. I 
fairly gasped when I saw her eat asparagus with 
her fingers without removing her gloves! It may 
have been a bet or a dare, but it was probably just 
a perverse impulse, or perhaps there was present 
some one especially correct whom she wanted to 
shock! She was never in awe of the great, and 
parental discipline did not impose too rigid a 
regulation upon personal conduct. 

Enter Nick 
Alice Roosevelt was terribly disappointed when 
her father refused to let her go to London for the 
coronation of King Edward. But for consolation, 
she had that memorable Taft trip to the Philip- 
pines. That was about a year later, and oh, the 
wonderful stories we heard about that tour — 
stories in which the fair Alice was star actor. 

29 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

These tales, well spiced, were the savory served at 
many a dinner table. They had percolated to 
America from the Far East, no doubt expanding 
in transit, and taking on a more lurid hue. 

Nicholas Longworth was one of the Taft party, 
and the romance, which had been budding, blos- 
somed fully on the voyage. 

There is no doubt that Alice supplied conversa- 
tion for many a dinner party by her activities in 
the Far East. 

"My dear! Have you heard about Alice Roose- 
velt and the sacred elephant?" ''Do you know 
what Alice did in a Chinese temple?" 

That she was the theme of conversation in no 
way dimmed her ardor for adventure. If fellow 
travelers did relate how she had, when dared, 
dived fully dressed into the plunge bath, what 
did she care? And if there was nearly a war 
because she had ridden a sacred elephant outside 
a Chinese temple, while the pig-tailed officials 
prayed for vengeance — or was it an encore — why 
worry? 

Goodness, how time passes! That is over seven- 
teen years ago. I wonder how many remember 
the excitement there was about her engagement 
and wedding, and the maneuvering for invitations. 

30 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

No one was surprised at the engagement, be- 
cause the barometer had been "set fair" for some 
little time. After its announcement, Alice seemed 
supremely happy. Functions at the White House 
took on an added interest. Would Alice and her 
fianc^ be there? The bride elect became the cen- 
tral figure, and so often after a brief appearance, 
she would quietly disappear — she and Nick. 

All through the winter, I remember, each day 
Alice would accompany Nick to the Capitol. Even 
on her birthday, a few days before her marriage, 
she made her daily pilgrimage to the shrine of 
politics with her future spouse. 

And the wedding! Washington will never quite 
forget that. 

The President wished to make it a quiet affair, 
but that couldn't be done. Close relatives and 
important officials were the basis of the invitation 
list, but it grew until it held a thousand names. 

Social America was on tiptoe, hoping for an 
invitation. The Has-Beens tried resuscitation, 
and the Never- Wasers resorted to novel tricks to 
break in. Many people, quite unknown to the 
Roosevelts, sent expensive presents, and then 
brazenly asked for invitations. Their gifts were 
promptly returned. 

31 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Strange, how some people seem to spend their 
lives courting snubs: never content with where 
they are. I could tell you a few who have — but 
that must wait till I get started on "breaking into 
society", and the best methods to use. Some 
jimmy the lock, and others creep in on the dumb 
waiter. 

But to return to the presents. Exaggerated 
stories of the value of the gifts and jewels being 
showered upon the bride elect grew out of the 
President's reluctance to have the list published. 
Fed by imagination, they grew alarmingly. This 
brought a crowd of appeals. Some asked that 
Alice should give from her plenitude to various 
worthy causes. Others made personal requests 
for a silver teapot or a few spoons, where there had 
been duplication. They had caught the souvenir 
habit. A few anonymous epistles were sent with 
a hint of future peril, should she retain this abun- 
dance which had been thrust into her hands. 

Nearly all the foreign royalty laid gifts at the 
feet of America's Princess Alice. We were so 
excited waiting to see what would come next. The 
Spanish King sent antique jewelry, Austria a 
diamond and pearl pendant. I forget what the 
King of England sent, but the jewelled bracelet 

32 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

from the Kaiser, I think, AHce afterwards gave 
to the Red Cross, during the War. I know 
the French gift was Gobehn tapestry, and the 
ItaHan King sent mosaic from Florence. So did 
Pope Pius IX. The Taft party, who had watched 
the romance grow and flourish, gave her a necklace 
of diamonds and aquamarines. Embroideries 
came from China and Japan, and I think Nick 
Longworth gave his bride a diamond necklace. 

They were married on a Saturday, and Congress 
adjourned without avowing a reason, so as to avoid 
establishing a precedent. Not that the marriage 
of a President's daughter and a Congressman 
happens often. But you never know. 

I remember Nellie Grant (Mrs. Algernon Sar- 
toris) was there. She had been married in the 
White House thirty-two years before. 

In spite of all those jewels, Alice doesn't care 
a fig for personal ornaments. Jewelry makes no 
appeal to her. When earrings were not fashion- 
able, she always wore them. Since the demand 
for earrings in the ten-cent stores has so definitely 
indicated the trend of fashion, she has ceased to 
dress her ears. A long platinum chain, studded 
with diamonds, is one of her favorite ornaments, 
and from this she suspends a gold turtle as big as 

33 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

a door stop. It is rather incongruous, but some- 
how it has a personal appeal to her, and that out- 
weighs all fashion. 

You know how the people out West worshiped 
Theodore Roosevelt! A few years after the mar- 
riage of Alice, I had a Western woman staying with 
me. She was tremendously elated one day when 
we received an invitation to a dinner at which 
Alice was to be present. She had never seen any 
of the Roosevelts, and all her interest seemed to 
center in the Longworth pair. 

There were five women at that party whose 
jewels were worth the proverbial king's ransom. 

We talked to Mrs. Marshall Field, who was 
clustered with pearls as big as hen's eggs. 

Mrs. Ned McLean wore her diamond tiara, and the 
famous Hope diamond, which is, of course, the larg- 
est in the world. You are never permitted to forget 
that fact. Some one is sure to remind you of it, 
and tell you all about the curse that hangs over the 
stone. They may even go so far as to mention a 
specific incident to prove this superstition in con- 
nection with the present owners of the gem. Inci- 
dentally, Ned McLean says that his wife doesn't 
buy her diamonds by the stone, but by the pound. 

Beside Mrs. McLean sat Mrs. Townsend, one 

34 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

of the Cave Dwellers, who has seen the rise and 
fall of many administrations, and was in all the 
glory of her far-famed jewels. Mrs. Joe Leither 
looked like a living chandelier, all aglitter. 

In the midst of this bejewelled group sat Alice 
Longworth and she didn't wear a single ornament! 

When we got home, and sat talking over the 
events of the evening, and discussing the clothes — 
you know how women do, when they brush their 
hair — the Western woman said: 

" So that was Alice Roosevelt, and not a diamond 
on her." There was a tinge of disappointment in 
her voice, for I believe she had expected her to 
look like the Queen of Sheba, after having read 
the list of wedding presents. 

Alice has always been a person of few intimate 
friends, and Sunday evening supper at the Long- 
worth home is an exclusive affar — exclusive in so 
far as you must be one of that intimate circle. 
' "Come and have supper; Nick feels like playing 
to-night." 

That is the probable form her invitations will 
take. Nick Longworth is a violinist of more than 
amateur ability, but he plays seldom — only when 
the inspiration stirs him. 

There was one night I particularly remember. 

35 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

There must have been about twenty people there, 
each wearing the garb society had prescribed for 
such semiformal occasions. 

AHce received us in a costume of her own de- 
signing — long, black, satin trousers and a loose, 
embroidered blouse. 

" I always like to wear trousers when I listen to 
music," she said, curling up on the divan among the 
cushions. "Skirts get in the way when I sit like 
this, and I always do when Nick plays." 

Alice the Politician 

"Tiger! Tiger!" called Alice Longworth. I 
thought she was going to recite Blake's poem, but 
she was merely talking to the tiger skin, a souvenir 
of one of her father's hunting expeditions, spread 
in front of the open fireplace. 

In every home there is a characteristic comer, 
some room more expressive of the owner than 
others. The Longworth drawing room is of the 
conventional type, but it is in the living room that 
you find the Roosevelt revealed. 

The big tiger skin gives a definite note, a per- 
sonal note. Alice worshiped her father, and would 
have fought like a tiger to defend him personally 
or politically. Photographs of Theodore Roose- 

36 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

velt, etchings and busts of him are there, with 
autographed pictures of famous men and women. 
There are also interesting cartoons reminiscent 
of past and present poHticians and events. 

It is a comfortable room, with an atmosphere of 
being lived in and loved. Not untidy, it has, 
however, the orderly disorder of books that are 
read, cushions that give comfort, pictures that 
please, and a faint odor of smoke. It is the home 
of people who prefer to live at home. 

The Longworths are splendid pals. Each 
accords the other a generous freedom, differing 
without dispute, and meeting life's problems with 
understanding. Alice likes men and enjoys their 
company. Not as a vamp does she seek them, 
but for a pleasant interchange, a clash of wit, for 
deep reasoning, and good fellowship. 

Next to her husband comes her brother Ted. 
She is very fond of Ted. 

Her inanimate loves are politics and books, and 
they have, as I have told you, a real fascination 
for her. She is a great reader, and devours weighty 
volumes and frivolous nonsense. Far into the 
night she reads. I often think she prefers books 
to people. She certainly spends more time in 
their company. 

37 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Formal visiting is anathema to Mrs. Nicholas 
Longworth, I can assure you, and her Congressional 
calls are a huge, unpaid, social debt. Let no Con- 
gressman's wife feel personally aggrieved if her call 
remains unacknowledged. She treats them all alike. 

"I hate calling; I just can't do it," she says, 
and there the matter usually ends. 

Occasionally she applies a measure of self- 
discipline to herself, and sets out to pay off some 
social debts. 

She started out one day with a Senator's wife — 
I think it was Mrs. Borah — with the fixed inten- 
tion of paying calls. 

When they arrived at the first house on the list, 
she hesitated. 

"Oh! I don't think I'll go in here," she said. 
"I'll wait for you." 

She waited, and Mrs. Borah went in. When 
the car stopped at the second place, she sat back 
contentedly. 

"You go in — I'll wait." Again she shirked. 

At the third place it was the same. When her 
social tour ended, her companion had left cards 
on ten women, but Alice had stuck to the car 
with amazing fidelity, and returned home with her 
indebtedness undischarged. 

38 



ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH 

"I wasted the whole afternoon," she told me 
that night. "Absolute waste of time, I call it." 

"And didn't you leave a card?" I asked. 

"Not one," and she smiled a lazy smile, and sat 
back among the cushions. 

If Nick Longworth were a different type of 
man, Alice might find plenty of activity in playing 
his particular game; but politically, do you think 
he will rise much higher? Frankly, do you? 

What a sensation it would cause politically, if 
Alice decided to throw her hat into the ring! 
She could join the Lucy Stone League, and become 
a Roosevelt again. That would be worth thou- 
sands of votes. And what a Senator she would 
make! 

I was out at a little tea party a few weeks ago, 
when some one suggested that Alice ought to run 
for the Senate. Instantly the room seemed riddled 
with ideas. Talk thickened. For ten minutes 
her assets and liabilities were tossed like leaves 
before the wind. 

"She's a brilliant woman," said one. 

"Look at her training in public life, her knowl- 
edge of politics. Why, she loves the game more 
than anything on earth, I imagine," said a second. 

"She'd make a good Senator, but a rotten candi- 

39 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

date," came in a Southern drawl. "She doesn't 
like people, and won't shake hands, and she has 
never been active in women's organizations." 

"You mean that she doesn't 'suffer fools 
gladly,'" came from a red-headed woman. 

"That's just it," said the hostess, as we gathered 
our coats and made for the elevator. 

But just think what it would mean to have one 
electric, vivid, fearless, audacious young woman in 
that stuffy, stodgy assembly of fence-fixers, seed- 
senders, and afraid-of-their-mitten mediocrities! 
And what a dare-devil campaign it would be! 
Can't you see sober traditions being broken, and 
precedents being carted away by the trash man! 
Why, the revelations of old Tutankhamen's tomb 
v/ould pale before some of the stories that would 
develop in that battle. 

And if she got in! Of course she wouldn't be 
spectacular all the time, but wouldn't those old 
partridges sit around, waiting, for fear they'd miss 
it when she was in action, making a six-cylinder 
speech. 

Well, who knows what the future may hold, but 
I hope I am still alive to see it — if she should 
stand. I'd just hate to miss the fim. 



40 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

SHE'S handsome in a heavy way, but her 
face sags," said a New York woman. 
That was the first description I had heard 
of Mrs. Wilson. Up to that time I had not seen 
her. I beheve that's a fairly accurate picture. To 
some she is handsome, and to others heavy. Dem- 
ocrats, no doubt, see her comeliness, and Republi- 
cans note the sag. Funny, how often we see what 
we are looking for. You know the old Japanese 
saying: "A bee flying over a field sees honey; a 
crow sees carrion!" 

Curiosity lent a keen edge to interest when the 
second Mrs. Wilson blossomed out as a White 
House bride. 

One Cave Dweller, with elevated eyebrows and 
arched instep, sniffed and murmured "Trade!" 

(Of course some of the Best People buy their 
jewels at Gait's, and after all, we are a democracy!) 

It was soon after her official d^but, I think, that 
a funny incident happened at Mrs. Moran's. 

Don't you know who Mrs. Moran is? Well, 
she is the safest bet in Washington. Just lay your 

41 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

money that she will be in the receiving line, and 
you'll never lose. How does she get there? My 
dears, she has oodles of money, and even when she 
isn't asked to take a box at the hundreds of charity 
balls, she just volunteers. Oh, you must have 
seen Mrs. Moran! 

Well, she had loaned her big house on Massa- 
chusetts Avenue to those writing women, the Pen- 
women's League, for an annual fair. And Mrs. 
Wilson was there. She was piloted up and down 
by the president of the League, an important little 
woman, who had three feet of ostrich feather hang- 
ing down her back from her hat. I think she's in 
Europe now. Just off the main hall was a room in 
which delicious coffee — Turkish coffee — was being 
served, and this room, like the rest of the house, 
was decorated with gay posters. 

As Mrs. Wilson was led into the coffee room, two 
prominent Red Cross women, in their best uni- 
forms, sat at one end. 

"Oh, here are two" — the League president 
paused, her hand pointing to the Red Cross 
officials. 

They immediately stood up, braced their shoul- 
ders, and preened themselves. 

Mrs. Wilson, following the pointing hand, met 

42 




Harris & Swing 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

their gaze, and a mutual acknowledgment of the 
introduction had just began — that half-formed 
smile — when the Penwomen's president concluded 
her suspended sentence. 

"Chromo posters, done by the camouflage de- 
partment of the army." 

Her eyes saw nothing but a hole in the air where 
the Red Cross women stood, but were fixed on two 
large, gaudy posters just behind them. 

The Red Cross women looked at each other, 
and realizing that they were not on the list of 
exhibits, subsided onto the couch. 

"A chromo poster!" said one in amused disgust. 

"Why, did you think you were a cameo?" asked 
her companion. 

But Mrs. Wilson had not checked her smile. 
She bowed most graciously to them before admir- 
ing the chromo posters, and the little president 
went on talking incessantly, quite unconscious of 
what had happened. 

It is strange how the multitude so often deserts 
a leader when his star has passed its zenith. And 
then, after a sharp and certain fall, a wave of sym- 
pathy will surge up, and give defeat a splendor 
that triumph never wore. Woodrow Wilson ex- 
perienced that. M. Viviani singled out the homage 

45 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

paid to Woodrow Wilson by the American people 
as one of the most striking incidents in his sojourn 
in this country. He marveled at it. 

Woodrow Wilson sought a quiet neighborhood 
when he left the White House. It was quiet then. 
Now it is a tourist resort. On Sundays and holi- 
days crowds go there to look at the home of the 
defeated Democrat. Same take their lunch and 
their children, and make a picnic on the pavement. 
Motors line up, and their occupants peer at the 
windows and pray for the opening of a door to 
reveal the vanquished chief. 

One family which used to live opposite, has 
movied. They have sold out and gone in search of 
seclusion. They were tired of this vigil of an ador- 
ing crowd, which left egg shells and orange skins 
on the step, after an all-day effort to catch sight of 
Woodrow Wilson. 

On his birthday, hundreds of men and women 
stood for hours in the pouring rain outside the 
house, waiting to see him drive past, that they 
might pay him the tribute of a personal greeting. 

Nearly every Saturday night the ex-President 
goes to Keith's theater. Like other studious men, 
he seeks diversion in the froth of foolery, hence 
his choice of vaudeville. In the same way he is a 

46 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

great reader of detective stories, to even the bal- 
ance of his mental meat. 

And each Saturday night, as the shambling fig- 
ure is assisted to his seat, the waiting audience 
stands and makes audible its admiration. After 
the performance, hundreds line the streets. I 
have seen them, in rain and snow, waiting, waiting. 
And when the big automobile comes out of the 
alley from the side entrance, there is a burst of 
cheering and clapping, as the machine hurries into 
the distant dark. That is Woodrow Wilson to- 
day, and Mrs. Wilson is usually close beside 
him. 

The Woodrow Wilson Language 
A humane old woman, who gathered stray ani- 
mals, had among her refugees a French poodle, 
well-bred and intelligent, but a sad dog; he 
grieved as one without hope. Meat and medicine 
failed to touch the root of his trouble, so some one 
suggested that she should talk to him in French. 
At "bon chien," he trembled with joy, and 
"pauvre petit" sent him into an ecstacy. 

There is a lot said for the attraction of opposites, 
but we do like some one who speaks our own 
language; who understands. It may be what 

47 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Freudians call the Narcissus complex, but in plain 
American, "Ain't it the truth?" 

If Mrs. Wilson doesn't exactly speak the Wood- 
row Wilson language, she at least seems to under- 
stand it. 

"What on earth attracted him to Edith Gait?" 
I heard a woman remark when the engagement 
was announced. 

One authority states that he was first attracted 
to her by the simple statement that she had never 
been to the White House until invited there to 
lunch by Margaret Wilson. Though an old resi- 
dent of Washington, she had not availed herself 
of the democratic privilege, and had waited for a 
special invitation. 

That may be. Some say that Margaret Wibon 
planned the match, and that she is now devoted to 
her stepmother. Margaret certainly is clever. 
Now, I don't believe either Jessie or Mrs. McAdoo 
would have thought of such a thing. Perhaps 
Margaret's distaste for White House life inspired 
it, and so she brought up the relief. 

There is another version, a more authentic one, 
I believe. 

Dr. Grayson, who so often accompanied the 
President on his drives, had noticed a very 

48 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

attractive woman driving alone in an electric 
machine. 

" I like the look of her. I wonder who she is? " 
he said to the President. 

I believe the White House car often followed 
the same route as this electric machine. When it 
turned to the right, so did the presidential car. 

One night Dr. Grayson met her — no, it wasn't 
Mrs. Gait, it was Miss Gordon, her intimate 
friend. I believe the way the Doctor convinced 
the lady that his gracious greeting was really the 
outcome of a sincere desire to have met her, was 
to recite from memory the registration number of 
her car. 

Soon afterwards he met Mrs. Gait. He liked 
her, and he had a hunch that the President would 
also like her. And it was in this way that the invi- 
tation to lunch issued by Margaret Wilson came 
about, via Dr. Grayson. 

But Mrs. Gait didn't say "yes" the first time 
of asking. Like a true woman, she hesitated. 

I once heard that the happiest moment in a 
woman's life was when she had decided to say 
"yes," but hadn't said it. You all know that 
delicious interlude — unless you are among the 
hasty ones, who say "yes" and decide afterwards. 

4 49 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Oh, you young ones, don't miss those dehcious 
moments by saying "yes" too soon! 
' Mrs. Wilson was born a BolHng, and she is 
entitled to affix F. F. V. after her name. Her 
tastes, I fancy, go back to the period when perfect 
ladies didn't get into moving pictures — they didn't 
have the movies then perhaps — and didn't arrange 
for a proof for the press when having their photo- 
graphs taken, with an eye to the social columns. 

Isn't she a lineal descendant of Pocahontas? 

The Wilsons seemed to shun the camera more 
than some of the Presidents. Have you ever 
noticed how Mrs. Wilson always managed to draw 
into the background a little, and so give the impres- 
sion that the President is perceptibly taller, 
which, of course, is not the case. 

That was always her attitude. She was proud 
to be Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, but she didn't want 
to wear the dome of the Capitol for a tiara. 

I remember the summer when the first Mrs. 
Wilson died. There was a nice old man, a staunch 
Democrat and admirer of the President, who was 
overwhelmed with grief, and wanted to pay his 
tribute of condolence at the White House. Since 
it was a hot, humid day, the old fellow decided to 
wear his black alpaca coat. 

50 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

''Better put on your proper coat, your Prince 
Albert," said his wife. ''It isn't quite respectful 
to call in that one.'* 

"But that is such a hot coat; it's cruel to ask a 
man to wear it a day like this." 

"I know, but don't wear your alpaca, father," 
she pleaded; "it doesn't look right." 

"But the heat!" he protested. 

"It's uncomfortable, I know, but think of the 
President — what he is suffering." 

The gallant old man went in and took off the 
old alpaca and struggled into his hot Prince Albert. 
Perspiring, he set off to the White House. 

When he saw the President and his daughters, 
stricken with grief, he felt glad that he had made 
the little sacrifice of his personal comfort. It 
wasn't much, and nobody knew about it, but he 
was conscious of having paid a special tribute of 
affection and respect to his President. 

One day, less than a year later, the old man 
sat reading his paper as he ate breakfast. There 
he saw the announcement of the engagement 
of the President to Mrs. Gait. He threw the 
paper aside indignantly. 

"And to think I took off my black alpaca coat!" 
was all he could say. 

51 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Butlers and Cave Dwellers 
There was quite an epidemic of marriages at 
the White House during the Wilson regime. 
Indeed, it has been called the "Administration of 
Vital Statistics." Jessie Wilson married Dr. 
Sayre, and Eleanor became Mrs. McAdoo. Mr. 
McAdoo now has children and grandchildren 
about the same age, because this was his second 
venture. 

Margaret, who was the eldest, escaped the con- 
tagion. She was very much occupied with public 
philanthropy, in which Major Pullman, one of the 
police heads, was also considerably interested. 
Their association in these works inspired some 
people with the idea that another romance was 
brewing. The press sensed a news story and 
followed up clues. At last, unable to bear the 
strain of suspense any longer, the newspapers 
announced, not the engagement, but the rumor of 
an impending engagement. 

One morning, Mr. Lewis Brownlow, District 
Commissioner, arrived at his office. A member 
of his staff was an Irish girl, an hereditary clerk, 
who was handed on from one Commissioner to 
another. She was poring over the newspaper, her 
eyes bulging, her face pink with suppressed excite- 

52 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

ment. She had just read the rumor of the engage- 
ment between Margaret Wilson and Major Pull- 
man. As Mr. Brownlow came in the door, she 
looked up and said: 

*'My Gawd, Mr. Brownlow, Mag's going to 
marry a cop!" 

Before Woodrow Wilson led Mrs. Gait to the 
altar, and the White House, each day for many 
weeks, a black-garbed lady had taken a drive 
around the Speedway in her electric machine. 
Daily, about the same hour, a Senator's wife, in 
a similar automobile, patrolled the blossom- 
bordered drive. They eyed each other at first; 
later they smiled, and eventually they exchanged 
a tentative greeting. The Senator's wife often 
wondered who this lady of mystery might be. She 
appeared to live in the city, but was not seen else- 
where. The day the engagement of Woodrow 
Wilson and Mrs. Gait was announced, the picture 
of the bride elect was published, and that Senator's 
wife got some shock when she recognized in her lady 
of mystery, the new mistress of the White House. 

The Cave Dwellers, as I have said, were not 
very enthusiastic. You know they are the ancient 
inhabitants of the city, who are here by right 
of birth or bargains, and not the will of the people. 

53 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

The Cave Dwellers have their own social code, 
and they receive or do not receive whom they 
please. There are no official strings tied to their 
bow — or they would have you think so. Mrs. 
Gait had lived in Washington— she had been with 
them, but not of them. An invitation to the White 
House means nothing to a Cave Dweller, at least, 
nothing special. You see, she has had so many. 
So the Cave Dwellers did not call. Individually, 
yes, perhaps. En masse, no. 

When Mrs. Wilson first came to the White House 
she had to face many social problems. I really 
think there ought to be a training school for Presi- 
dents' wives that would give them a chance to try 
their fences. The long line of dead and gone wives 
who have graced this ancient house have set up 
standards, evolved codes, modified, expanded, 
duplicated, and generally left a position nominally 
very simple, but actually very complex. 

The acquisition of a butler is an important 
milestone. Some people even divide the world 
into two classes— those who have butlers and those 
who haven't. 

I heard one family sternly condemned : 

"Why, they're impossible— they don't even 

keep a butler." 

54 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

No, the speaker wasn't a Cave Dweller. She was 
a Congressman's wife from the Middle West, but 
she has been here a long time. That was her test. 

I heard a new arrival under discussion one day. 
Should she be asked to lunch or not? 

''Well, ask her once, and if she cuts her lettuce 
with a knife, we'll know what to do in future." 

These are simple things compared with the prob- 
lems that beset the path of a newly installed First 
Lady, especially if she is handicapped by being a 
late arrival in the picture. 

Politically, it might have been better for Mrs. 
Wilson if she had been a glad-hander, and able to 
supply this deficiency on the part of her husband. 
Even as President, he was singularly cold in his 
enthusiasms, and failed to kindle a responsive 
spark. I have seen his picture at the movies 
create more vital interest than the personality of 
the man himself. Don't you remember when he 
complained: "The people don't love me!" But, 
somehow, love was not the emotion he inspired. 
His was a cold, brilliant intellect, which compelled 
admiration in his followers, rather than affection — 
personal affection. 

I recall one occasion when a man referred to 
him familiarly as "Woody". 

55 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

I don't like it as a description, but perhaps it 
was a term of endearment. I like that idea better. 

Mrs. Wilson the Second certainly did not forget 
her own people. The Boiling family were con- 
stantly projected onto the White House screen. 
If the President and Mrs. Wilson drove in the park, 
they were fortified by a few Boilings. Was it a 
theater party, there was a generous sprinkling of 
Boilings in the box. Wherever they went, the 
scene was peppered with her relatives. 

The Contrasts of March the Fourth 

I often wonder how Mrs. Wilson felt that day — 
March 4, 1921. To me it is such a vivid picture. 

Outside, the cheering crowd, the pushing, sway- 
ing mass, straining for vantage points; the excite- 
ment of anticipation, the exaltation of victory. 

Tall, handsome, smiling, the victor, Warren G. 
Harding, arrives for his triumphal inaugural 
ceremony. 

A shambling, pathetic figure, conscious of defeat, 
conscious also of the physical disability which had 
robbed him of his dignity of bearing, is assisted 
from the Capitol to his car. Too frail to face the 
ordeal, he signs his name for the last time as Presi- 
dent of the United States, and turns away. 

56 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

Warren Harding mounts the steps, a handsome 
hero, the people's President. 

Woodrow Wilson drives away — along Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue. A little negro boy jumps on the 
running board of his car. The distant cheering 
grows fainter as he leaves behind him his triumph 
and his failures. He takes with him his ideals— 
and his pain. 

Within a stone's throw of the Capitol, within 
earshot of the plaudits of the multitude acclaiming 
a new leader, a man lies dead. Champ Clark does 
not hear the cheers of welcome to his rival, for 
Death has already whispered in his ear: 

''Your pilgrimage is ended. You shall never be 
President of the United States. Come! Follow 
me!" 

The Tongues of Washington 

Mrs. Wilson doesn't play politics, at least not 
in the sense that Harriet Taylor Upton, Emily 
Newell Blair, or Maud Wood Parks do. Partisan 
politics, watering the elephant and gathering 
thistles for the donkey, nothing of that kind! 

Some time ago, Mrs. Wilson ventured to attend 
a meeting of the Democratic women in Baltimore. 
That started it! The Whispering Gallery was in 

57 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

fine form, and it echoed and reechoed with mur- 
murs, exclamations, and strange asseverations. 

''He has sent her over to spy out the land!" 
was the theme played, with variations, on the 
vibrant chords of women's tongues. 

"From battle, murder, sudden death, and the 
tongues of Washington, Good Lord deliver us!" is 
the prayer of one pious soul in the District of 
Columbia each night. 

Bad politician as he may be, Woodrow Wilson 
knew better than to send his wife on such an errand. 
He once said that she had better political judgment 
than he had. 

On hearing this, one woman remarked, 'That 
isn't a matter of much pride." 

Well, I suppose it isn't possible to keep all the 
oats cut, and while there is party politics, you will 
always find the partisan and the prejudiced. 

Speaking of party feeling, I remember a luncheon 
Genevieve Clark Thompson, daughter of Champ 
Clark, gave during the war. She called it a stag 
luncheon, and invited thirty lone women to Dower 
House, in Baltimore. You know, it was formerly 
the home of Lord Baltimore. 

Agnes Hart Wilson was there. Her father was 
in the Cabinet then. Labor, wasn't it? 

58 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

"My dears! Do you know what happened to 
Mrs. Baker?" she said. 

"No, Agnes, what?" asked Genevieve. 

"Well, Secretary Baker has gone to Europe 
about the war, and she was going home. On the 
train, in the very next compartment, sat four men, 
criticizing the administration. They hadn't a 
good word to say for it, and they fairly ripped Mr. 
Baker to pieces. One said: 

" 'I hope a submarine gets him before he comes 
back.* 

"That was too much for Mrs. Baker. She felt 
that something ought to be done. First she 
thought of calling the conductor, and wiring ahead 
for detectives to arrest the speaker at the next 
station. Finally she decided to take the matter 
into her own hands, and she let them have it, I can 
tell you. 

" 'What's it got to do with you?' asked one of 
the men. 

" 'It's got this to do with me — Mr. Baker is my 
husband,' she said hotly, 'and I demand your 
names, as I am going to report the matter.' 

" 'Sorry you happened to hear; it was only a 
private conversation,' said one, as he handed out 
his card with maddening coolness." 

59 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

"What did she do then?" asked Genevieve. 

" Oh, she reported it to the authorities, but they 
didn't seem to do much; the Attorney-General 
didn't press it very hard." 

"And were they really German spies?" asked 
one guest, her eyes bulging with excitement. 

"Oh, no! Merely Republicans," replied Agnes 
Wilson, contemptuously. 

The Penalties of Greatness 
As I have already told you, when Mrs. Wilson 
Number Two came to the White House, there was 
the usual rush of clubs and organizations to enter- 
tain her and run an eye over the new Lady of the 
Mansion. One national organization gave a recep- 
tion in her honor, but they didn't have a club 
house then. They held their social sessions in a 
room behind a tailor's shop. 

Desiring to make it as impressive as possible, 
the Committee requested the tailor to move his 
pressing board, and close the door, so that in 
passing into the club room, the First Lady might 
not be suffocated by the steam rising from a half- 
pressed pair of trousers. 

The tailor, a born Democrat, wanted to see all 
that was going on. So he kept the door open, 

60 



MRS. WOODROW WILSON 

and continued the sacred rite of pressing trousers, 
watching for the White House entourage through 
a veil of vapor which arose from the moist cloth. 

At last she came, flanked by two women secre- 
taries, or something, to act as buffers. No doubt 
the President feared that in a group of brilliant 
women, his State secrets might be jeopardized 
unless his wife was properly fortified in case of an 
unexpected questionnaire. 

Furniture and fittings had been hastily borrowed 
to add to the beauty and comfort of the club room. 
There was a settee. In that settee was a broken 
spring. Beside that settee was a vigilance com- 
mittee of one, specially appointed to keep Mrs. 
Wilson, who is no lissome lass, from sitting on 
that broken spring. But she did. The vigilance 
committee had for one sad moment relaxed, and 
there was a— plonk. Mrs. Wilson had sat down. 

She was with many apologies and some effort 
assisted to arise, and accommodated in a more 
secure and seemly setting. 

Then the procession formed and the introduc- 
tions began. You know how it is. You mumble 
your name, or somebody in advance mumbles it 
for you, and the guest shakes hands, and endeavors 
to acconamodate each with an individual smile. 

61 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

One woman paused to have a little chat, and 
held up the whole line. 

"I have been connected with Lady Blank's 
hospital in Canada," she volunteered, recounting 
her war sacrifices. 

"Have you, really?" said Mrs. Wilson smiling. 

Her face is very pleasant when she smiles and 
her interest is aroused. But have you noticed 
that rather hopeless expression, that droop, in 
repose? She was looking very pleasant that day. 
I had never seen her look so well. 

The woman still stood in front of her. 

"Yes, indeed, I have," she said, and diving a 
hand into her pocket, she produced a white veil. 

"And this is the veil I wore the day I saw her, 
and I want you to accept it," thrusting the 
crumpled treasure into Mrs. Wilson's hand. 

One of the buffers on her flank quickly relieved 
Mrs. Wilson of the embarrassing gift, and hid the 
precious gossamer from sacrilegious eyes. 

Mrs. Wilson murmured strange phrases of grati- 
tude. There was a determined effort at the rear 
of the line. A forward movement crowded the 
generous donor off the center of the stage, and the 
program proceeded. 

Oh! the penalties of greatness! 

62 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

WHEN Amos Kling opposed the marriage 
of his daughter to the strugghng editor 
of the Marion Star, he couldn't be 
blamed for omitting the White House from his 
calculations. Twenty years ago it is doubtful if 
Warren G. Harding had allowed his fleeting fancy 
to roam that far. 

As a matter of fact, the lamented President was 
never an ambitious man. He was of a contented 
mind. He liked the quiet harbor where his 
barque was moored and was content to signal a 
friendly greeting or a timely warning to the big 
ships sailing far out on the tumultuous political 
seas. He took life as he found it — and liked it. 
He was neither an adventurer nor a reformer. 

Mrs. Harding had a determined father, accus- 
tomed to obedience in his children. Florence 
inherited some of this virtue. She showed it when 
Banker Kling issued this ultimatum: 

"You must make your choice — ^your father, or 
Warren Harding. Which is it to be? " 

There wasn't any hesitation. Florence's deci- 

63 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

sion laid the cornerstone of President Harding's 
political career. It is said that even in those early 
Marion days she heard the distant call to him and 
felt the lure of the gi^eat unknown. Always she 
believed in him, encouraged him, and sometimes 
urged him. Ah, who can tell what dreams she 
dreamed for him as she mended his socks on the 
little front porch that was destined for a place in 
the history of America! 

Politics so often follow prosperity; haven't you 
noticed that? When the paper began to pay, 
politics beckoned the genial editor. Mrs. Harding 
saw the gesture, and nodded. It was her white- 
gloved hand that pointed ''Stop" and "Go" 
through the devious paths that led from the Ohio 
state legislature to the United States Senate. 

In those old days, when she was circulation 
manager of the paper, she used to ride a bicycle, 
and pedal home half an hour before Warren, in 
order to broil the steak. No butlers then; not 
even a servant. The first butler arrived on the 
scene after the nomination. 

When Mrs. Harding first arrived in Washington 
as a Senator's wife, she came on a stretcher — an 
invalid. But as First Lady she returned in the 
triumph of health. Even as a Senator's wife she 

64 




Harris & Ewing 



MRS. WARREN G. HARDING 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

always wore her clothes well. She is neat, and I 
always imagine her hairpins in graduated rows in 
a box, and her pins stuck in patterns on the cushion. 

Her Finger on the Pulse 

Mrs. Harding was never content to be on the 
fringe of things. Whether it was running a news- 
paper or running a nation, she wanted to keep her 
finger on the pulse. Her autobiography would 
not be brilliant with epigrams, scarred with scan- 
dals, nor would it make ripe reading for the blasd. 
It would be the chronicle of an intelligent woman, 
who had tried earnestly and honestly to do her 
job in life as she saw it. If she had ambition, 
certainly it was not for herself. The limelight 
always made her wince a little. 

This has been called the Age of Jazz, but Mrs. 
Harding's regime was characterized by nothing 
that was frivolous or trivial. With earnest 
endeavor and conscientious exactitude she walked 
her path, balancing carefully between extremes. 
Neither in dress nor in modes or manners did she 
follow breathlessly the pace set by the ultra 
progressives. Neither did she stay bogged in the 
mud of medievalism. Mrs. Washington intro- 
duced ice cream to the American menu, but no 

67 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

new dish is credited to Mrs. Harding, although 
she is somewhat celebrated as a, cook. The effort 
among some couturieres to create a vogue for 
"Florence Harding blue" failed because Mrs. 
Harding wore black and white and yellow and 
green as frequently as she wore blue. 

She was natural to the point of being naive. 
There was something sweet and distinctly feminine 
about the way in which she conducted her first 
shopping tour to New York after she became our 
'' First Lady ". It was almost as if she had brought 
a bit of Main Street and planked it down right 
into Peacock Alley at the Waldorf! But it was 
so human and everydayish that everybody liked 
it when she showed her new clothes to the reporters 
and had her picture taken right in the midst of 
them. Of course we liked it! 

Well, if it was a breath of Main Street that 
Mrs. Harding brought to the White House, let us 
have more of it, for it was a spirit of friendliness, 
in fact the very essence of neighborliness that was 
typical of her entire administration. 

To newspaper people she was always most 
generous and most understanding. Soon after 
Mr. Harding was nominated they were preparing 
to motor from Washington to Marion and their 

68 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

car was parked in the back yard while final 
preparations for the journey were being made. 

The cook, an amiable soul, had been left on 
guard, but not being acclimated to the new presi- 
dential atmosphere, she forgot her vigil and left 
her post to gossip with the chauffeur next door. 
Seizing this unhoped-for opportunity, newspaper 
photographers, assigned to the task of getting a 
"close up" of the President elect, sneaked up and 
lowered the top of the car. 

Mrs. Harding, passing the kitchen window at 
the moment, was startled to see the top of the car 
slowly collapse, and the next instant the cook, too, 
was back on the job. "Who lowered that top?'' 
came in stentorian tones. 

Now these were men who had been decorated 
for valor in France, but their courage evaporated 
instantly. They didn't wait to dig themselves in, 
but their heels were visible one brief instant as 
they disappeared over the fence. 

And even as they ran Mrs. Harding was remon- 
strating with the cook. "Think of those boys 
being so clever," she said. "They really deserved 
that picture!" And those same boys never knew 
how she felt about it. 



69 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

"Just Folks" 

The Hardings used to say often that they were 
"just folks" and there are many stories, told now 
in affectionate memory, of a neighborliness, 
hitherto unknown among the White House occu- 
pants, that illustrates how consistently they held 
to that mental attitude of good will toward the 
whole world. 

One of these is of a luncheon given Mrs. Hard- 
ing at a fine old Southern home in Atlanta. The 
truth is that the hostess was somewhat discon- 
certed to learn that the First Lady had had her 
luncheon on the train — but that isn't the story. 

It seems that the guest of honor was much 
interested in the delectable dishes served, and, 
being a good cook herself, she was interested in 
the sheer art of the affair from a culinary stand- 
point. When told that the "artist" was a good 
old-fashioned negro "mammy", Mrs. Harding 
expressed a desire to meet her, and after luncheon 
the cook had a distinction not usually bestowed 
upon cooks. She was called in and presented to 
the First Lady. 

Mrs. Harding took both of the black hands in 
her own white-gloved ones and "just being 
pleasant", she said, "How would you like to 

70 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

come to the White House and cook for the Presi- 
dent and me? " 

But the old darky was frank too. "No, thank 
y'r, ma'am. I been raised in Atlanta, 'en Vd 
ruther wo'k fer white folks es I knows what kind 
uv white folks dey is. I ain't acquainted in 
Washington." And no one enjoyed the joke more 
than Mrs. Harding did. 

On another occasion when she was being enter- 
tained in New Orleans she was interested in the 
efficiency of the negro waiters and concluding her 
after-luncheon speech she said, "I don't want to 
leave until I have shaken hands with every one 
of these boys." 

Being First Lady of our great land is a full 
time job for anybody, and Mrs. Harding tried to 
put in full time on it, despite the fact that she was 
never physically strong. She was always ready 
to see people if it was at all possible and she gave 
of herself freely— so freely that at last a break- 
down forced her to give up all social duties and 
succumb to a prolonged and serious illness. 

Mrs. Harding never got over that purely 
feminine habit of preparedness. As long as she 
was in the White House she took a very personal 
interest in the housekeeping affairs of the estab- 

71 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

lishment and never left things entirely to the 
professionals in charge. She liked to have a 
little preliminary survey to see that things were 
all right. You know the feeling. We women are 
all like that. 

I think it was George Washington who gave a 
dinner in New York, when it is recorded that 
"He said grace and they dined off a boiled leg of 
mutton." Well, things are not so simple as that 
now. 

The Hospitable Hardings 

The Hardings were always so gracious and so 
cordial and so human that their impulse would 
probably have been to go back to the open door 
policy of other days at the White House. Mrs. 
Harding said that somehow it always seemed 
unkind not to see people who really wanted to be 
seen. But the policy of permitting people to 
inspect the White House at their pleasure had to 
be abandoned some years ago. In this day of 
persistent and aggressive journalism, one could 
never know when an ambitious reporter might be 
hiding behind a door or under the dining table. 

My grandfather used to tell of an illiterate old 
man from the West, who came to Washington in 
President Madison's time. He had a request to 

72 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

make. First, he wanted a judgeship. On being 
refused, and convinced that he was not fitted for 
the position, he shd down the scale, ending up 
with a petition to be made a constable. 

When the President refused even that, he said: 
"Well, give me a pair of your old breeches." 

They may not be content with old breeches 
these days, but they are none the less persistent 
in their demands. Because they seemed so demo- 
cratic, the Hardings were besieged with many 
requests ranging from a cabinet or diplomatic 
post to an autographed photo of Laddie Boy. 

Mrs. Harding was always proud of being a 
small-town woman. She never wanted to be 
anything else. She remembered when she didn't 
have things. When roses and carnations were 
four or five dollars, a bouquet from the White 
House, with a gracious message, expressed the 
understanding of a woman who once knew what 
it was to make ends meet, and who liked flowers 
at her party. Choice blooms often went to Con- 
gressional homes, and her theater box and motor 
car were constantly at the disposal of the less 
fortunate. The Harding relatives didn't figure 
in the picture as the Boilings did in the Wilson 
regime, however. 

73 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Mrs. Harding understood the small-town curi- 
osity, and the value of a close-up of the high spots 
in the Capital when a visitor was relating adven- 
tures in Washington back in the home town. 

"Wouldn't you like to go up and see the other 
rooms in the White House?" she asked a Middle 
Western woman one day. "I know how curious 
I used to be about it all," she admitted frankly. 

It is singular that of the last five Presidential 
families, the Roosevelts alone have come through 
their term without affliction. President Mc- 
Kinley's death was a tragic ending to his career, 
and his wife had been an invalid. Mrs. Taft, who 
had planned such great social events for their 
regime, was stricken with illness. President 
Wilson, who came in in vigorous health, went out 
a broken man, and Mrs. Harding ,had just recov- 
ered from a serious malady which confined her to 
the White House for many months when she 
started bravely on the ill-fated Alaskan trip with 
the President. 

Many will recall the fine day early in their first 
summer at the White House that the Hardings 
threw open the grounds and held their first garden 
party. It was a magnificent success. The 
weather was perfect, the green lawn a velvet 

74 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING' 

carpet splashed with gay colors — the red uniforms 
of the band, the bright frocks and hats and 
parasols. It was a distinct change after the 
seclusion of the previous administration. 

I think it was Mrs. Pomerene who remarked, 
"Aren't things different now?" as she looked over 
the friendly crowd being made welcome. 

Mrs. Harding tried one innovation that after- 
noon. In order to indicate the close of the party 
the band played "The End of a Perfect Day." 
However, some one had previously announced 
that this was Mrs. Harding's favorite melody, so 
it was a pointless allusion so far as the guests were 
concerned. 

A second time it was played, but the hint failed 
to penetrate the pleasure-sodden minds of the 
party. In the ball room, where the dancing was 
in progress, the end of the party was again 
proclaimed. 

At last it seemed to dawn on some that the oft- 
repeated tune had a suggestion of finality, and 
the crowd gradually dispersed. 

"Are you going to establish that as a definite 
custom for the termination of White House func- 
tions?" one woman asked. 

"Not after this!" said Mrs. Harding laughing. 

75 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Four Thousand Handclasps 

The big receptions at the White House are a 
fearful physical strain — physical, mental, moral — 
all of them. Just imagine shaking four thousand 
individual hands, and providing foui' thousand 
individual smiles. After hours and hours of it, 
there must surely come a time when it is merely 
a blur of faces and the mechanical clasping and 
imclasping of hands. 

There was a time, particularly during the demo- 
cratic Jefferson administration, when it was held 
that all social courtesies savored of courts and 
kings. But politeness is the universal language, 
as order is heaven's first law. So it had to come. 

Each official or group is supposed to have an 
allotted place in the order of precedence; and 
rank, length of service, or age are the determining 
factors. Just between ourselves, I may say that 
the lower the rank, the more exacting on precedent. 

When equality is the keynote of a constitution, 
it is difficult to make these differentiations without 
resorting to court customs. The authorities who 
made the Executive, Legislative, and Judiciary 
coequal did not consider the social aspect. 

The heads of the three departments of State 
cannot enter the door at the same time — think 

76 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

of Mr. Taft! Wouldn't there be a jam? Yet each 
has the right to first place. 

The solution is found in the entertainment of 
each gi'oup separately. That is why the President 
holds four official receptions each season. In the 
old days it used to be nine. But much of the 
simplicity inaugurated by the Wilsons has stayed. 

To the first are bidden the foreign ambassa- 
dors, because one must always be polite to visitors. 
The ambassadors take rank according to length of 
service. It would never do to try to arrange them 
in the order of importance. Each is naturally 
most important to himself. If they didn't apply 
the term of service, it would have to be done 
alphabetically or according to weight. 

M. Jusserand is now Dean of Ambassadors. 
''Doyen" some of them prefer to call him. 

The diplomatic reception is really the most 
spectacular, as the foreigners are all turned out 
in their gold braid and medals and feathers and 
fancy millinery. Some look quite bewitching, 
and have a courtliness of manner which befits the 
ceremony. 

The second reception is given to the Judiciary. 
There are no wigs nor gowns here, nothing frivo- 
lous. They're too old for that; most of them, 

77 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

not all. But it is usually solemn and pompous, 
even though they have a petticoated judge or two. 

Next comes the reception to Congress — Cabinet, 
Senate, and the Representatives of the House. 
The foiu*th reception is given to the Army and 
Navy. Since we are a peace-loving nation, the 
Army and Navy do not rank so high as in other 
countries. 

It is a long process, this reception business. 
Just take my hand, and Fll lead you. 

After a lengthy wait in line, you are disgorged 
from a machine at the door and swallowed up in 
a crowd, all furred and feathered, which is ex- 
changing its wraps for tickets. You put the 
ticket in your bag, or down the heel of your shoe, 
or behind your ear and take your place in the 
queue. 

You watch the painted faces of dead and gone 
ladies of the White House, as you creep, serpent- 
like, down the hall. The long-past hostesses look 
placidly from the walls as the procession moves, 
two and two, along the wide corridor. Then you 
turn up the stairs, up and up, your view being 
obscured by the broad back in front. 

At the head of the stairs you turn to the left. 
Inch by inch you gain ground as the minutes fly 

78 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

past. At last you reach the dining room, paneled 
in dark wood, the mantel banked with flowers 
and ferns and the furniture spirited away. 

You keep in line, hugging the walls and trav- 
ersing three sides of the room before you pass 
through the Red Room. You are getting nearer 
now. Ahead you can see the President and his 
Lady as they stand on your right in the adjoining 
room. Here the men give a last hitch to their 
ties, and square their shoulders, while behind fans 
the women make a valiant effort to repair the 
damage incurred en route. There is a final fluffing 
out of frills and the last dab on the nose. 

As you cross the threshold into the Blue Room, 
you fall into single file. You try to shout your 
name into the confiding ear of the polished official 
who bends confidentially toward you. But your 
voice comes in a trembling whisper, and you clear 
your throat and try again. Then it comes with 
a roar. 

You are introduced to the President, who, with 
a smile and a kindly greeting, passes you on to 
his wife, who repeats the smile and greeting, and 
you make way for the next. 

On your left, roped off with a velvet cord, are 
the special guests, who also watch you pass. At 

79 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

least, you think they do, and for a moment you 
feel as important as the filling in a sandwich. 

Suddenly you emerge from the Blue Room into 
the Ball Room, where you find the crowd which 
has preceded you. The ordeal is over. 

You meet many strange and interesting people 
there, and see the most wonderful frocks and 
jewels. But it is soon over. 

It usually takes one hour from the time you 
fall into line in the corridor until you have shaken 
the President's hand. It is an interesting hour, 
full of people and anticipation, the glitter of 
jewels, the soft scene of powdered faces and necks 
and arms; bare backs and black backs, men with 
too many clothes for comfort, and women with 
too few for charm, and the odor of scent, smoke, 
and sarsaparilla. 

If you have been to but one of such functions 
you will doubtless remember every detail of the 
experience, but it is doubtful if Mrs. Harding will 
linger long over such memories. To her it was 
the individual touch that meant something. She 
liked informal afternoons on the Mayflower with 
the newspaper women, or a chat over the tea cups 
with some woman of achievement. 

Some day, when time shall have lessened the 

80 



FLORENCE KLING HARDING 

poignancy of her grief, she may remember some 
of the many amusing little incidents she enjoyed 
so keenly, for her sense of humor saved many a 
situation from sordidness. But registered indelibly 
in the American consciousness is a distinct im- 
pression of the fineness and friendliness of Florence 
Kling Harding as First Lady of the Land. 



81 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

MRS. COOLIDGE assumed the First Lady- 
ship with many quaUfications for the job. 
There is something in the poise of her 
head, the big, brown, intelligent eyes, and the 
slight dilation of the nostrils that suggest class 
and distinction. You know the sort of thing — 
alert, eager, enthusiastic, with head held high, she 
looks out on the world — a world full of interesting 
things. 

Do you remember March 4, 1921? The eyes of 
the nation turned toward the White House. 
President Wilson, "in residence" on the last day 
of his administration, was to receive his successor, 
the late President Harding, Mrs. Harding, and 
the Vice-President and Mrs. Coolidge. 

The gates at the entrance stood hospitably open 
for the first time in three years. At the door. 
Head Usher Hoover, imposing dignitary, who has 
served at least five Presidents, awaited the visitors. 
Recent events had given the situation a dramatic 
tenseness. The country felt it; the principals 
felt it; even the major-domo felt it. 

82 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

There was nothing but an exchange of courtesies 
between the incoming and outgoing Presidents. 

People saw the new President pass, surprisingly 
grave. Mrs. Harding, coated in caracul, was 
stamped with the approval of Mrs. Ned McLean; 
sartorially, at least. Then came the Coolidges. 
The Vice-President, even then, wore his poker 
face. He wasn't born a New Englander for noth- 
ing. He's got the New England complex, and 
looks as though he believed emotions to be im- 
moral. I wonder if the Massachusetts Senate 
still calls him "Cal". 

Mrs. Coolidge, however, has a sense of humor, 
and she collects friends, as a barque does barnacles. 
And they stick as closely. Mrs. Marshall had set 
the pace in popularity for First Lady in Waiting, 
but Mrs. Coolidge didn't seem to get out of breath 
in keeping up to it. 

That official reception at the White House on 
the memorable March 4th was Mrs. Coolidge's 
second visit. But oh, what a difference! 

"Life is a funny thing," she said to me that 
evening. "You know, the first time I came to 
the White House, I brought my class of deaf and 
dumb pupils. Their affliction was a terrible handi- 
cap, and it took much longer to show them round. 

83 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

The delay annoyed the head usher, and he grew 
impatient. Finally, in exasperation, he invited us 
to leave. I realized, of course, that we had taken 
more than our share of time, and didn't blame 
him. But, behold! It was the very same man 
who opened the door to us to-day — and bade us 
welcome!" 

What a training school for a President's wife — 
among deaf mutes! How strangely appropriate! 
It certainly has taught her patience — a patience 
that gets tested to the utmost time and time 
again. 

I guess the President himself often longs for the 
peace and silence of a deaf and dumb school, after 
a long presidential day. And Mrs. Coolidge, too, 
after the welter of words in Washington, must 
dream of that silent sanctuary! 

Mrs. Coolidge didn't have to send out any 
questionnaire to decide whether a home or a career 
was the better for a woman. When she took 
young Calvin for better or worse, she knew that 
she didn't get any credit for originality of thinking. 
At least ninety-nine per cent of women agree with 
her — provided you get the right kind of man. 
To be sure, that kind aren't so thick that it takes 
a traffic cop to handle the crowd. 

84 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

Real Boys 

Now there are a pair of young Coolidges, fine 
strapping boys. Apartments aren't homes, but 
arriving in Washington in the spring of 1921, the 
CooHdges took over the Marshall apartment at 
Wardman Park Inn, known since the Marshall 
occupancy as "The Little White House", and 
society began to gravitate in that direction. You 
see, they made no secret of the fact that all they 
had was the salary that goes with the job. 

Mrs. Coolidge managed to make that apartment 
very like a home. Yes, she's quite domesticated. 
Funny how virtuous and appealing domesticity 
appears in the eyes of male editors and press 
agents! During the campaign, don't you remember 
how we had Mrs. Coolidge's blueberry pie and 
mincemeat and doughnut recipes, until I wondered 
if the poor girl was ever out of a bungalow apron. 

In holiday time, the boys came home, but Ward- 
man Park didn't cramp their style or take the edge 
off their youthful enthusiasm. At that age, life 
centers on things to eat and watching the wheels 
go round. Dances are a bore, and girls — well, 
when you can watch planes at Boiling Field, and 
the wireless at the Navy Yard, and can swim at 
Henderson's Castle, or listen in at the McLean 

85 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

radio at "Friendship", I ask you, what does a 
young chap want with girls? 

This is the first time since the Roosevelt regime 
that we have had boys in the White House, and 
they are real boys, too. Remember how Kermit 
rode his pony right up the White House steps? 

I was paying some calls at Wardman Park one 
afternoon, and a nutty, buttery smell came seeping 
from beneath the Coolidge door. 

"What's that?" asked the woman with m*e, 
sniffing the savory odor. 

"Popcorn," said I. "Mercersburg draws the 
line at popcorn, which is very shortsighted. So 
when the Coolidge boys come home from school, 
out comes the electric grill and chafing dish, and 
there is a popcorn feast added to the vice-presi- 
dential calendar." 

If you live in an apartment you must have a 
chafing dish. I just love the man who said that 
a chafing dish was merely a frjdng pan that had 
got into society. It is, but it fits there a lot better 
than many people do. The chafing dish has poise, 
and the frying pan hasn't. I like the word poise, 
don't you? It's so handy. 

The Coolidges are truly democratic. The fact 
that father was governor of Massachusetts didn't 

86 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

prevent one boy from serving a paper route. 
Another hired out to weed potatoes. They 
needed experience, so why should father's position 
handicap them? In this case it didn't. 

When news reached Calvin Jr. that his father 
had suddenly been elevated to the presidency, the 
lad called the new President over the telephone 
and congratulated him, expressing surprise and 
grief over the news of President Harding's death. 
Then he announced that he could not go to the 
White House for some time. You see he had a 
perfectly good job working on a farm at three 
dollars and a half a day, and he saw no reason 
whatsoever why he should give it up to go and 
idle away the days at the White House until 
school opened, just because his father was Presi- 
dent. Now 'the Coolidge boys are just like that. 
They are real boys, but withal they are extremely 
practical and quite self-reliant. They do quite 
a bit of thinking for themselves. 

Many prerequisites go with position, but per- 
sonality always counts a great deal. Some people 
are accepted for what they represent; others, even 
after they have relinquished office, find their 
engagement book nearly as full. They know that 
the invitation then is purely personal. Others 

87 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

fade off the social landscape like last year's snow. 
With them it was solely the position that held 
them in line. 

Now, long before Mrs. Coolidge went to the 
White House she was really popular. In fact, I 
don't believe she ever needed to cook a meal at 
home. She could lunch and dine out the whole 
year round. But that doesn't mean a free meal 
ticket. Hospitality begets hospitality, and in such 
matters there must be reciprocity. And, oh ! this 
business of balancing parties! It is as bad as try- 
ing to balance a budget! If there is one quality 
needed in official life, it is tact. 

Smiling Through 
You have heard of the Senate ladies' Tuesday 
luncheons, haven't you? Mrs. Coolidge used to 
preside charmingly over these simple feasts. The 
whirr of sewing machines drowned the gossip 
during the war, when Mrs. Marshall had her team 
sewing shirts for soldiers. Since then, the ladies 
of the Senate have continued their weekly reunion, 
but it is merely a social gathering in Caucus Hall. 
It is quite informal, and they take turns in bring- 
ing the salad, cake, pickles, and sandwiches. 
► After the last election one or two of the lame 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

ducks' wives, sore at defeat, had grown barbs on 
their tongues. 

When Mrs. Borah offered condolence to Mrs. 
Poindexter, her overtures were met with a curt 
reply from the very frank lady. 

"You ought to be sorry, when your husband 
contributed to Miles' defeat. Why didn't he 
come and speak for him, as he promised, if you 
were so anxious to have him returned?" 

''Oh, Mrs. Poindexter, your husband's manager 
said that you were all so sure of victory, that it 
was not necessary." 

Of course, each had a different version of the 
story, but there was a slight hush in the assembly 
for the instant. 

I can tell you that it takes tact to preside over 
such functions. 

Mrs. Coolidge believes that the wives of public 
men, like children, should be seen and not heard. 
No human dictaphone will ever turn anything she 
says into a press record; certainly not anything 
she says will create a sensation or cause embarrass- 
ment. She observes Safety First Week over the 
entire fifty-two. Mrs. Coolidge is human— but 
discreet. 

Mrs. Coolidge is a New Englander in all that 

89 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

the word implies, so it goes without saying that 
she went to college, and also that she taught for 
a few years after graduation — in that school for 
the deaf and dumb. Could anything have been 
more appropriate for a woman who was destined 
to be the wife of our President? How to be deaf 
and dumb at the proper moment, how to speak 
when spoken to, how to use one's eyes in the place 
of one's ears — and, above all, how to exercise 
patience and then more patience. All women 
who are thinking of marrying politicians should 
follow the example of Mrs. Coolidge and seek a 
close and prolonged association with the deaf and 
dumb. And a few blind associates would not be 
amiss. 

Steering a Safe Course 

I often think the Vice-President must feel like 
the extra tire carried on the back of a car. It 
gets the ride and the dust, and everybody hopes 
there will be no need to use it. 

" I never can tell whether it is the Vice-President, 
or Medill McCormick," said one ingenuous gallery 
sitter to another. 

"Oh, that's easy," said the second. "Both take 
things seriously, but Medill was named for his 
grandfather, who was a newspaper man, and all 

90 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

newspaper men know that nothing is as serious as 
you think it is. Then, the top of Medill's head 
is round, where Calvin Coohdge has a plateau. 
Not exactly handsome, either of them," she con- 
cluded comfortably, "but the wives have the 
good looks and style in both these families." 

Vice-Presidents don't get much chance to shine, 
really. We never really began to know Mr. Cool- 
idge until he became President, though Mrs. 
Coolidge had registered quite definitely and 
delightfully in the social consciousness of the 
National Capital. With Roosevelt it was differ- 
ent. It took more than a bolster to smother him, 
and more than a trapdoor to keep him down. 

Mr. Marshall was no mere figurehead, of course, 
but neither was he a limelighter. His position 
was very awkward, because he differed vitally 
from the Wilson policy in many things, and his 
friends knew it. I don't believe his enemies ever 
found out; they certainly didn't get it from Mr. 
Marshall. 

He steered a safe course and dodged the rocks 
and shoals and reefs like a master seaman. He 
never committed a breach of good taste. I don't 
think any man ever left a public position with so 
many friends and so few enemies. And Mrs. 

91 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Marshall was a big factor in establishing that 
record. 

You mightn't be fearfully impressed when you 
look at the President, but you can't forget that 
he had a spectacular career as governor of Massa- 
chusetts. People seem to think that a man who 
could subdue a strike of policemen was a good 
man to have on guard, even when all is quiet on 
the Potomac. 

But there. isn't any doubt about Mrs. Coolidge. 
She has certainly helped sweeten the social souffld 
of official Washington. She has graced parties big 
and late, small and early. She has been patroness 
for this and that. Her motto is "One church, 
one club, one husband, one political party." It's 
a wise old motto! She even stays in Washington 
in August, when anyone is in danger of being mired 
in the melting asphalt, believing that she can add 
to her husband's comfort. Devotion could go no 
further! 

Speaking of patronesses, one young man recently 
decided to abolish them. He declared for the 
independence of the girls and, fired with fervor, he 
voted that the highest tribute they could pay the 
modern miss was to remove the platoon of patron- 
esses from the social scene. 

92 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

One wise woman took the fervent youth gently 
by the ear and led him to a secluded spot. 

"Do you know why they have patronesses?" 
she asked him. 

"Yes, to spy on the girls," he replied indignantly. 

The wise woman shook her head. 

"No, dear boy, that's not the reason. Did you 
ever hear of a thing called charity? Well, charity 
is one of the stepping-stones to society. This is a 
system — a terrible system, I'll admit — but an 
approved system for squeezing money from the 
rich and giving it to the poor. They lay for the 
privilege of being a patroness. High up socially, 
they don't pay much. They lend their name. 
But the lower you go on the social scale, the 
higher you climb financially. Being patroness is 
one way of buying your way into society. You 
can't abolish them. Ask the treasurer! You 
have a lot to learn about the world and its way 
yet, laddie, but your patroness is no spy. She is 
a financial necessity." 

The youth, enlightened and subdued, withdrew 
his motion. The patroness remains. 

Mrs. Coolidge belonged to the socially elevated, 
who lend their name. It is the still obscure who 
hand out the biggest checks. 

93 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

In dress Mrs. Coolidge prefers a Tremont Street 
conservativeness to the more ultra models calling 
for an act of faith and one shoulder strap. 

Do you remember that blood-red suit Mrs. 
Coolidge had when she first came as our ''Second 
Lady"? The wool for that was grown on one of 
the Vanderbilt estates, and the material was a gift 
from the people working there. 

She doesn't have to go out to shop now. ^ Jm- 
porters crave the honor of sending crates of exclu- 
sive models to the White House for her choice. 

Doing shopping at home is not the exclusive 
prerogative of the President's wife. I know one 
Washington woman who had seventeen crates of 
spring hats sent down from New York from which 
to make her choice. And Mrs. Medill McCormick 
finds the world too full of big interesting things 
to waste much time on clothes. So she practically 
has a buyer in New York. If she needs a hat, a 
suit, a gown, a wire brings it speeding down. 

Abolishing the Bustle 
The Lady of the White House can exercise quite 
an influence on fashions, and often has. 

Did you ever hear about how Mrs. Cleveland 
abolished the bustle? 

94 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

In those days, Congress didn't spend so much 
time in session, and newspaper men from other 
states, reluctant to return to their home towns 
during the recess, resorted to every trick to justify 
their continued existence in Washington. 

There were about fourteen of them who used to 
meet each day, and after conference, some one 
usually succeeded in digging out a story worthy 
of transmission. 

One day there was nothing, absolutely nothing. 
They sat disconsolate, fearing an immediate recall, 
owing to the dearth of news in the Capital. 

"Can't we send a society item?" suggested one. 

"Yes, if you've got one; there isn't a line in 
sight now," replied a second. 

"Then let's manufacture one," said the first. 

There they sat solemnly trying to think of 
something that would do. 

"I've got it!" said the originator of the idea. 
"Let's say that Mrs. Cleveland has decided to 
abolish the bustle." 

"Brilliant!" 

They sat and scribbled, and in an hour the 
message was being sent broadcast — a message that 
was to revolutionize the fashion of the day. 

Mrs. Cleveland was young and beautiful then, 

95 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

and the nation looked to her as a guide in such 
matters. It was a trivial thing, of course, and 
she didn't consider it worth a contradiction. Yet 
if she appeared in the old-fashioned bustle after 
this definite statement to the contrary, it would 
mean so much explanation. 

So she did the simple, courteous thing, and 
immediately ordered a gown without a bustle. 

Exit the bustle! 

And the man who did it afterwards became a 
great editor. 

Whether or not Mrs. Coolidge is to bring about 
any revolution in dress remains to be seen. 

Burdens and Beatitudes 
The duties of a President's wife are not set forth 
in any handy book on etiquette, but here are a 
few of the things she is expected to do. Expected, 
really, is rather a mild term, for some of the letters 
contain demands, even threats, but not all, for 
there are also earnest pleas and gracious petitions. 
She must paint the farmhouse and the barn; 
provide a new tractor; send a gasoline engine and 
some dynamite; lift the mortgage; supply cows; 
buy stock for setting up deserving Republicans 
in business; prevail on her friends to purchase 

96 



MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE 

butter and eggs from the Blank farm; send girls 
to Europe to study music and art; provide ward- 
robes for social aspirants; launch debutantes; 
adopt babies; educate orphans; send just ONE 
handkerchief to be raffled at the bazaar; autograph 
just ONE photograph to sell at the church fair; 
dress ONE doll; and get pensions for everybody. 

Every day brings some new appeal, and to all 
of them there must be a courteous response, though 
neither picture nor cow, autograph nor doll is sent. 
There are no exceptions to prove this rule. It 
has to be inflexible. 

Life is full of prayers, threats, demands, and 
simple requests. But if you are built on the 
Coolidge plan, you can do it and keep smiling. 

There is a basic cheerfulness in Mrs. Coolidge's 
make-up, and much tolerance, but perhaps that 
three years with the deaf and dumb has helped 
her more than anything else. It has taught her 
to be patient and made her adaptable. It enables 
her to endure — yes, endure — the burdens and 
beatitudes of her position. 



97 



THOMAS D. SCHALL, THE BLIND 
CONGRESSMAN 

Mrs. Thomas D. Schall 

A CONGRESSMAN'S wife in overalls! Did 
you ever meet her? No! I thought not. 
You don't find her at the women's clubs, 
at the bridge luncheons, or at receptions. You 
never will see her jazzing till dawn. Her life is 
too full of work, of sacrifice, and, most wonderful 
of all, of a great joy for what she has achieved. 

One door in the House Office Building bears the 
inscription, "Thomas D. Schall, Minnesota." 

Inside you find Thomas Schall, the blind Con- 
gressman, and Margaret, his wife. Not alone his 
wife, but his eyes, his secretary, in very truth his 
helpmeet. 

She is short of stature, with tiny hands and feet, 
blue eyes that twinkle, and a mass of wavy, blonde 
hair, and as a sartorial setting for these she wears — 
blue overalls! 

"I began to wear them in wartime," she says, 
"when we didn't have much money for dresses, 

98 



THOMAS D. SCHALL 

and they are so comfortable and convenient, I 
always wear them for the office." 

Just think of it! They were both at college, and 
Margaret first saw him when a thrilling baseball 
game was being played. There were jeers at the 
losers, followed by a lesson in manners. Tom 
Schall leaped in with handy fists, and diverted 
attention from his vanquished comrade, who had 
got mixed up in it. 

Margaret Huntley saw it! She wasn't surprised 
when she learned that his middle name was David. 
You know how it is with girls! 

They were both prize winners; Tom won all the 
oratorical honors, and Margaret gathered in the 
trophies for French and German. They hadn't 
much to start with in their matrimonial part- 
nership but a great faith. 

Tom had struggled from obscurity as a chore 
boy, bootblack, newsboy, and janitor to his own 
law office in Minneapolis. 

It was a small office, neither crowded with furni- 
ture nor clients. Some who sought assistance paid 
for his services in farm produce. One offered a 
dilapidated old cider press in exchange for legal 
advice. 

But the two youngsters playing the game of 

99 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Life laughed at obstacles, and Margaret managed 
the little apartment called home with the same 
economy and energy that Tom showed in the office. 

There were four happy years, with success just 
in sight, then — tragedy. 

The hand of Fate shut off forever for Thomas 
Schall the sight of the world and the face he loved. 
An electric cigar lighter had short-circuited, and 
was the instrument of destruction. He was blind. 

"What shall I do?" he cried in despair to his 
brave little wife. "Oh, what shall I do? Sell 
shoe-strings on the street corner?" 

"No, dear," said Margaret Schall. "I will be 
your eyes, and you shall still practice law." 

He had grappled with Fate from the cradle, but 
this was the acid test. Could he read aright life's 
problems through her eyes? Could he meet men 
in combat, with only a woman's hand to guide him? 

" She has never failed me — never ! " That is the 
tribute he pays her after long, long years of un- 
changing night. 

Margaret Schall studied law, in order to brief 
her husband's cases. Unlike the seeing lawyer, 
he could not refer to authorities or notes. He had 
to depend entirely upon his memory. At first she 
had to read and reread the facts for him to mem- 

100 



THOMAS D. SCHALL 

orize. But the darkness has led to greater con- 
centration, and now, after one reading, he is almost 
letter perfect. 

Together they have fought the demon of dark- 
ness, and together they have won. But there were 
times when even his wife didn't know the blackness 
of his soul or the despair that threatened to over- 
whelm him — times when he wondered if it were 
not best to escape from his eternal night! 
Why cumber the earth and be a burden to others? 
But the brave little woman in overalls by his side 
always dispelled the gloom. 

There was a faint chance held out in the early 
days, an operation which meant restored sight, or 
death. But the chance was so small! 

Success at law rewarded their gallant effort, and 
Thomas Schall decided to enter politics. He is 
now serving his fourth term. 

Margaret didn't know anything about politics 
then; now she loves them. So closely are the 
Schalls associated that when newspapers out home 
publish the Schalls' pictures, there is generally the 
caption: "This is the team for us." 

I was sitting talking to the blind Congressman 
one day when his wife had been called out of the 
room. 

101 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

"She is my eyes, she is my pencil; it was she 
who had faith in me, and gave me courage to go on 
when the world went black. I have never seen 
her in overalls, but I know that she wears them 
with as much grace as she wore her silkiest dress — 
when I could see." 

Mrs. Schall knows all about the bills her husband 
drafts; in fact, she has drafted many of them, and 
knows their status and popularity. She knows 
and loves the people he represents. They are her 
people, too. 

People have found fault with Tom Schall for 
appointing his wife as secretary. 

" It would be so easy for a disinterested secretary 
to deceive a blind Congressman," he answers, 
"and, incidentally, to lighten his own labor. But 
with my wife, whose interests are my own, nothing 
is neglected. In fact, I think we hold the record 
for answering Congressional mail within twenty- 
four hours," he adds proudly. 

Tom Schall was a little apprehensive when he 
set out on his first campaigning trip, with a chauf- 
feur to guide him. When he came home, he told 
his wife of his success with his audiences. 

"Why, kid, it's just like taking candy from a 
sick baby!" 

102 



THOMAS D. SCHALL 

Then Mrs. Schall decided to get into the game. 

She drove the car and selected the location for 
him to speak when they reached town. 

"It's important to get a good background, and 
to have the wind blowing toward the audience, 
not away from it. Local committeemen don't 
think of those things!" 

Quite true! It takes a woman to weld the prac- 
tical and artistic. 

I remember one campaign they had. When 
Tom was speaking, Margaret would take a hammer 
and handbills and decorate the town. 

Do you know, they went abroad in 1918, and 
Margaret Schall was granted special permission 
to accompany her husband into the front-line 
trenches. At Fiume she was under fire, and she 
translated for her husband's sightless eyes the 
pages of history that were being written in blood. 

Even after they were homeward bound, her 
courage was again put to the test. The first day 
out, the Ml Vernon, on which they sailed, was 
struck by a submarine. Mrs. Schall had arisen 
early and was fully dressed when the shock came. 
She hurried below to assist her husband and bring 
him on deck. Then she tied him to her waist by 
a rope, and as they were both good swimmers, 

103 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

she was prepared to guide him at sea, just as she 
did on land. 

When they came on deck, she electrified the 
captain by her cheery "Good morning. Captain." 
No hysterics, no weeping, not even an audible 
prayer. Is it any wonder that he recommended 
that she be cited for bravery when in great danger, 
and that his request was granted! 

Even her husband marveled at her extraordinary 
coolness. 

"Why, I knew we couldn't be drowned, because 
the lines in my palm show a rescue from ship- 
wreck." 

Mrs. Schall, I may tell you, is a wonderful 
palmist, and her rescue at sea is not the only pre- 
diction that has come true. 

She doesn't wear her decoration. "I'm saving 
it to give to Peggy when she is old enough to appre- 
ciate it, " she says proudly. 

Although Peggy has a wonderful nurse, it does 
hurt to refuse her pleading "Take Peggy, mother," 
when Mrs. Schall leaves for the office every day. 

Peggy has two brothers, Tom, Jr., and Dick, 
and they seem to have solved the question of per- 
petual motion. Hence the farm in Maryland. 

Margaret engineers a ragged Ford out to the 

104 



THOMAS D. SCHALL 

country when the day's work is done. That is 
home — home with plenty of space to romp with 
the children, an orchard, a vineyard, and quite an 
ambitious vegetable garden. 

This home which Tom Schall loves so well he 
has never seen, except through the eyes of his wife. 

But sadder still, he has never seen the faces of 
his children. 

He knows only the picture that mother-love 
paints. 



105 



SOCIAL PUBLICITY 

IF you look in the telephone directory in 
Washington, you will find about a hundred 
Hugheses. Yet when you say " Mrs. Hughes ", 
everyone knows exactly whom you mean. There 
is" no need to say "Mrs. Charles Hughes", or 
"Mrs. Charles Evans Hughes". She is simply 
THE Mrs. Hughes. 

The real test of social superiority is evidently 
not the accumulation of distinguishing names, but 
the ability to discard them all and retain your 
identity. If some day there is a Smith or a Brown 
in the White House, it will be the same. Should 
we have half a dozen Representatives with the 
name, say, Johnston, it is the one who becomes 
THE Johnston and can discard the baptismal tag 
who has surely achieved distinction. 

And so with his wife. When you can say "Mrs. 
Johnston", denoting a specially distinctive woman 
who needs no qualification for identification — then 
the prestige of being THE Mrs. Johnston is hers. 
In short, she has arrived. And so it is in addressing 
people of high rank; you throw the superfluous 

106 



SOCIAL PUBLICITY 

names overboard. The higher you go, the less 
labeling you need. 

But oh, what importance is attached to names — 
names that look well in print! People are often 
invited to functions not because of their brains or 
wit or beauty, but because of their name. Con- 
versationally they may be like unto cold pudding, 
and be as graceful as an old bus horse, but if they 
bear a name that looks well in the newspapers, 
they are acquitted of all else. If you don't believe 
me, just watch the social columns. If there is any 
other justification for asking some of the frequent 
guests, Fd like to know what it is. 

Why, many hostesses are quite candid about it! 

"I'm so sorry to put you next to Mrs. Blank. 
I know she's such a bore — but — " 

A gentle pressure on your elbow as she propels 
you toward your fate. A flicker of an eyelash, a 
quirk at the comer of her mouth — you understand 
the signs. She has taken you into her confidence. 

Perhaps the bore is influential in the D. A. R., 
president of a literary club, has a cousin married 
to a countess, or a husband in the Cabinet. Or 
it may be dollars that afflict her! But she is a 
welcome guest. Oh, you know the kind, I'm sure. 

The value of a name is not overlooked by hotels 

107 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

and restaurants either. I remember the wife of 
a one-time noted Senator, who was chaperoning 
two schoolgirls in New York. One of the girls had 
a beau, who decided to entertain the little party 
at dinner. He was arranging with the proprietor 
of a restaurant that had at one time been very- 
fashionable, but which had somehow fallen from 
grace. 

The shrewd proprietor, realizing that the youth 
hadn't much money, offered to provide the entire 
dinner, decorations and all, if he were permitted 
to publish an account of the party next day, 
stating that the Senator's wife was the hostess. 
The boy, seeing no harm in it, agreed. 

It was a charming little dinner, and the chap- 
erone was apprehensive as each course was served, 
knowing that the boy was no Rockefeller. 

'Tm afraid your friend is a very extravagant 
young man," she said to her prot^gd. ''But it 
was a charming dinner." 

Next day she read with amazement an account 
of the dinner she had given. Later the boy con- 
fessed how the story had been fabricated, so that 
the restaurant might appear to be regaining its 
old patronage. 

The publicity side of entertaining is made mani- 

108 



SOCIAL PUBLICITY 

fest in the compilation of invitation lists. Each 
day social and official circles are combed for news 
of dinners, dances, and parties. In the desire to 
have the news first, newspapers often anticipate 
the event, and you may read a full account of the 
party before you go to it, even to the dresses 
worn. 

But there is another social grade, the dear old 
Climbers. They issue invitations to all sorts of 
people who never by any chance accept, and then 
send their invitation list to the newspapers for 
publication. 

There is nothing to stop their sending invitations 
to Mrs. Hughes, Princess Cantacuzene, Mrs. 
Coolidge, Princess Bibesco, Madame Jusserand, 
Lady Geddes, or the Haniharas. And there is no 
law — criminal law — to prevent these invitation 
hsts being published in the press. The Climbers 
recognize no social law — yet. All's fair in love and 
war and social exploitation! 

This is a sort of social false pretence, but it is 
done daily by certain people and associations. 
They know these guests will never, never accept. 
They don't expect them to. It is all a bluff. 

There are other Pushful Persons, usually with 
money, resource, and brass-bound sensibilities. 

109 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Society has not yet opened its door to them, so 
they decide to pick the lock. 

A new official is appointed or a foreign celebrity 
arrives in the city. They are promptly on the 
scene with their request: 

"I want to give a little dinner in your honor; 
what night will suit you — Thursday of next week? 
No! Then perhaps the following Tuesday? No! 
Well, what about the Friday after? No! Then 
let us make it Wednesday three weeks, if that will 
suit you!" 

In despair, seeing no hope of lying an escape 
through the whole season, the newly arrived capitu- 
lates. Then the Pushful Person sends out invita- 
tions to other great and near-great, baiting the 
hook with the celebrated guest of honor. Some, 
out of pity for the guest, accept. Others, genuinely 
grateful, are willing to come. In this way social 
indebtedness is incurred, and the Pushful Person 
receives reciprocal invitations. 

One aspiring matron on the fringe of the 
official set decided to capture society in one fell 
swoop. 

Her husband, no less ambitious, was her guilty 
accomplice. She planned a wonderful dinner 
party of thirty — thirty carefully selected people. 

110 



SOCIAL PUBLICITY 

If she carried this, it would put the imprimatur 
of society on her forever; she felt sure of it. 

The caterer was engaged, the decorations 
ordered, and the household in a tumult of ex- 
pectancy. 

"It is such a pity," she naively confided to me, 
"but I have planned my dinner for the most unfor- 
tunate night. Everyone seems busy. Do you 
know I have had twenty-eight regrets from the 
thirty I invited." 

Then, following the Scriptural example, she sent 
out into the highways and byways, and gathered 
in, at very short notice, a group of willing partici- 
pants in the revelry — people whose combined 
social tonnage wouldn't sink a bag"of kittens. But 
the grateful guests didn't know of the tragedy 
that underlay that party; of the strategic social 
advance that failed. 

These people are usually great students of books 
of etiquette and social usage. They like to be 
letter perfect. By the way, one of the latest 
guidebooks through this wilderness states that at 
the conclusion of the party, the debutante shall 
say to the hostess, "I've had a perfectly WON- 
DERFUL time!" But the hardy annual merely 
says, "Good-by!" The omission of "wonderful" 

111 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

indicates that she is not newly hatched socially, 
and the wonder has quite worn off. Enthusiasm 
goes with the bud, but a more blas^ air 
becomes the seasoned campaigner. Now don't 
forget! 

A noted artist who was in Washington for a 
few days, met a friend by appointment at one of 
the Women's Clubs. She just breezed in and out 
again, a matter of minutes. But a paragraph was 
rushed to the papers next morning that the famous 
portrait painter had dined there the previous night. 
So trivial, but good publicity. 

Have you heard the latest term for "Publicity 
Agent"? That has become so commercialized — 
smells of trade — that in more exclusive circles it 
has been replaced with the dignified phrase "Press 
Attache." No, I don't know whether or not they 
wear cocked hats and swords, but they are sure to 
bear some insignia of office — they'd have to with 
that title. Yes, I believe the term is more favored 
by women. 

Can't you remember a number of people at one 
time waiting in the social shallows, who now can 
swim — without wings? They splashed a bit at 
first, and some nearly drowned at the deep end — 
nearly. Now they are entitled to the freedom of 

112 



SOCIAL PUBLICITY 

the social pool. Well, if they are satisfied with 
what they got for what they gave — why worry? 

New arrivals, of course, come in for special enter- 
tainment in Washington, and there are always new 
arrivals on tap. Much of this emanates from a real 
desire to be courteous to strangers within the gates, 
and is quite apart from the system of exploitation 
for personal advantage. 

And you find one group which actually shuns 
publicity. Their invitation lists are not sent to 
the press; their entertainments are not starred; 
their parties are a personal pleasure and not a 
public proclamation. Here you generally find real 
people — men and women who have no need for 
publicity to insure their position; or whose prestige 
is not imperiled by contact with other than the 
socially elect. Their invitations are issued with a 
desire to extend hospitality and not to win noto- 
riety. When making up the list they are con- 
cerned with the person himself, and not with 
how his name will look in print. 



113 



MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH 

THE first time Mrs. Borah, ''Little Borah" 
her intimate friends call her, dined at the 
White House was during the Roosevelt 
administration. It must be fifteen or sixteen 
years ago. She was a quiet little mouse, with soft, 
golden hair, and she was shy — very shy in public. 
She had just arrived from Idaho, and was awed 
by the Capitol, overwhelmed by the White House, 
and thought all Senators superior beings. I can 
see her now as she used to sit, day after day, hang- 
ing over the gallery, her face alert — listening. And 
when Billy Borah spoke! 

I think this dinner was the first time she had met 
President Roosevelt, and she was very nervous 
and apprehensive. 

*'My dear," she said to me next day, **It was 
wonderful. I sat next to the President — on his 
left. When the man in uniform showed the plan 
of the table, and I saw where I was to sit, I thought 
I'd die. I didn't know what to talk about." 

Mrs. Borah did not venture to open her mouth 
until after the first course. Then she said timidly: 

114 



MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH 

" I saw your friend, William Allen White, when 
we passed through Kansas the other day." 

That did the trick. 

"I think White's book. Stratagems and Spoils, 
the best political story ever written," replied the 
President, alight with enthusiasm. "I have just 
sent a copy of it to Jusserand for a birthday 
present." 

One of Theodore Roosevelt's first questions to 
her was: 

''How many children have you, Mrs. Borah?" 

"I wanted to tell him I had nine," she confided 
to me. "I knew he would like me better, but I 
thought it best to tell the truth, and say I had 
none." 

There had been a much jewelled group at the 
dinner that night, their first big dinner party, and 
on the way home. Senator Borah said to his wife : 

"Did you feel very much out of it, Mary, with- 
out any jewelery? " 

Amazed, she answered, "Why, I never thought 
of it, I was so excited." 

Little Borah found her first social pilgrimage in 
the Capital rather an ordeal. It is an old story 
now, but still a vivid memory in that active brain 
housed beneath the fluffy golden hair. 

115 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Being a newcomer, she had to pay her calls, so 
she faithfully set out. At the first house she came 
in shyly. The hostess was talking to a group of 
friends, and took no notice of the name announced, 
but extending a limp hand diagonally, continued 
her conversation. 

"He didn't exactly eat with his knife," she said, 
describing a recent dinner guest, "but I expected 
that any moment." 

This met with great laughter. She was an influ- 
ential hostess, and you always laugh at jokes from 
such a source. It makes you popular; it's tact. 

Mrs. Borah hovered in the offing a moment, 
stood on the fringe of the group, then quietly 
slipped away. 

A few days later the two met across a luncheon 
table. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were Mrs. Borah 
when you called the other day?" the woman de- 
manded. "You look far too young to be a Sena- 
tor's wife." 

I think it was President Monroe, when making a 
triumphal tour of part of the country, who was 
asked if he were not weary. 

"A little flattery will support a man through a 
great fatigue," he replied. 

116 




Harris <fc EwinQ 



MRS. WILLIAM E.BORAH 



MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH 

The subtle flattery offered by way of compensa- 
tion to Mrs. Borah did not blot out the initial dis- 
courtesy, nor did the special invitations to lunch 
and dinner which followed. The persistent "prior 
engagement" soon made it evident that friendly 
relations were impossible. 

I used to think that Mrs. Borah was afraid of 
her husband. That's a long time ago. When she 
refuses to disturb him with prayers, petitions, and 
threats, it isn't because she is afraid of him, but 
she sort of — minds him. Acts as a kind of buffer. 
She knows when it is timely to present these 
prayers, petitions, and threats, and staves them 
off until the mutually advantageous moment. It 
is bad psychology to ask the right question at the 
wrong moment. And always ask them after meals 
for preference, with any man — unless he is a 
dyspeptic. 

When you see Senator Borah in the Senate, 
cutting cross sections in the air with his arms, 
pounding the table, and shouting his denunciation 
or advocacy of some measure, he looks awfully 
fierce. And that square chin with the naughty 
dimple in it! Outside he seems different. Not 
exactly shy, oh, no, but aloof. He isn't gregarious. 
She has fairly to drag him to a party. 

119 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Every morning he rides in the park before going 
to the Senate. He told me, with a slow, crinkly 
smile, that he found one horse a pleasant change 
from four hundred men, and Jester is a very intelli- 
gent horse. 

Out in Idaho, people say that Mrs. Borah is as 
good a politician as her husband. That's natural, 
perhaps, on account of her early training, for her 
father was governor of the State before she got 
married, and she was with him a great deal. She 
realizes the strain of political life. YouVe got to 
keep things running smoothly at home if you want 
the rough edges of life left on the mat when a 
weary or exasperated man comes in the door. Ask 
any official wife! 

One of Mary Borah's chief activities is taking 
care of shell-shocked soldiers. There are quite a 
number of these, mentally unbalanced, who invari- 
ably claim her as their next-of-kin. When a 
fatherly cop gathers one in for abnormal behavior, 
for not realizing the difference between meum and 
tuum, or for betraying that he has met a boot- 
legger, the poor fellow will refer the authorities to 
Mrs. Borah for bail. She is a very sympathetic 
Aunt Mary. 

They pay ho:* surprise visits at all hours. I have 

120 



MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH 

met many a wild-eyed, half-crazed soldier sitting 
on her best couch, while she persuaded him to go 
back to the hospital or coaxed him to abandon 
some dangerous scheme. 

The Senator says he never knows whom he will 
find when he gets home. And cooks have left in 
violent protest at the call for emergency meals at 
any hour, to feed hungry soldiers who may have 
lost count of time and place. 

Though Little Borah hasn't been to the East, 
there is a distinct Oriental note about the furnish- 
ings. Japanese pictures and hangings speak of 
the Land of the Rising Sun, and a wonderful old 
Chinese cabinet is a newly acquired treasure of 
which Mrs. Borah is particularly proud. 

Three yellow canaries flit unrestricted around 
the Borah apartment, perching on the high back of 
the Philippine chairs, and singing in a shrill, yet a 
sweet, crescendo. 

You know, Mrs. Borah always reminds me of 
these canaries, with her fluffy yellow hair, bright 
eyes, and quick movements. These birds, by the 
way, are a matter of grave superstition among the 
negroes, and Amanda follows Virginia in quick 
succession through the Borah household. It is 
hard to catch a darky who is superstition proof. 

121 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

If she is, she is hkely to be afraid of the strange 
look in the eyes of the soldier proteges who roam 
the apartment frequently. 

I dropped in to see Mrs. Borah one morning in 
the winter. It was raining, and the Senator had 
just returned from his ride. He was wearing a 
slicker like a policeman's coat, and was still smiling 
at an encounter he had had with a woman in the 
park. 

She was evidently the type which considers it 
extravagance to waste courtesy on a cop, 
and she demanded directions of Senator Borah 
in a very peremptory tone. The directions were 
given. 

"You are a guide, aren't you?" she asked, a 
sudden doubt apparently assailing her. 

"There are people who don't think I am," the 
Senator had replied, but the subtle answer was lost 
on her. 

"Billy knows every animal in the Zoo by its 
first name," said Mrs. Borah. "How are all your 
friends to-day?" she asked him. 

He told of a big, happy, squawking duck sitting 
on the edge of a pool. It was to be the next meal 
for the boa constrictor, which would crowd the 
live bird down its endless neck and then lie in a 

122 



MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH 

comatose state for days until it had absorbed it, 
feet and feathers. 

"Yesterday I saw a wee, unsuspecting little pig 
cuddle up to a python, as though to keep warm. 
To-day the python has a large protuberance, for 
the little piggy has involuntarily gone inside — to 
keep warm." 

'*A pity you don't do that to some of the Sena- 
tors," said Mrs. Borah, laughing. 

There was an enigmatic smile on the Senator's 
face as he picked up his hat and headed out the 
door to the House of Four Hundred Men, where 
they don't feed pigs to pythons, and even lame 
ducks aren't swallowed whole. 

"You don't see Mrs. Borah out much socially," 
I remarked one day. 

"She's been here too long — they nearly all get 
that way after four terms," was the reply. "I 
believe Joe Cannon's daughter is the conscientious 
exception." 



123 



MRS. MEDILL McCORMICK 

EVER hear about my Bargains in Bulls?" 
Mrs. Medill McCormick crossed her legs 
and hugged one knee. She was in her 
riding suit, dark and well-tailored, with a soft 
shirt, and her hair was dressed low to fit her hat. 
She leaned forward as she spoke, her face alight 
with interest, her dark eyes smiling humorously. 

"Breaking into the farming community isn't 
easy — not even if you are a millionaire. They 
seem to hate you for that — distrust you. But it 
is business, and the farmer will eventually listen 
to arguments based on dollars. He's no different 
from any other business man," she added. 

"I had bred a lot of young bulls, and I was try- 
ing to persuade the farmers that it was just as 
cheap to feed a pure-bred bull as a grade one, and 
much more profitable. The farmer was very con- 
servative. He wouldn't buy. He suspected some 
trick; he hated the idea of being taught anything 
by a city woman. So I put up a big notice on my 
farm gate: 

'BARGAINS IN BULLS' 
124 



MRS. MEDILL McCORMICK 

"It was no good. The farmer wouldn't buy, 
not even at $25. So I stopped an old man one 
day, and asked him why he wouldn't come in on 
my bull bargain. 

''The old man said that he had farmed all his 
life the way he was doing it now, and that was 
good enough for him. He didn't want any new- 
fangled notions. 

"At the last I offered to give him a bull for 
nothing. 

" 'If you send it over, I'll turn it out on the 
road,' he said gruffly, and drove on. 

"That was a few years ago. But I stuck to it 
and persevered, and now you should see the 
farmers coming over to buy my young bulls." 

I happened to be listening in on this conversa- 
tion one day when Ruth McCormick was telling a 
stranger about her adventure in the dairy business, 
and it struck me as typical. That's the kind of 
woman she is. Thorough! 

She was a millionaire, of course, before she 
married the McCormick millions. It was ten 
years before any babies came. Then one, little 
Katrine, became very ill, and Ruth discovered that 
most of the milk being sold in Chicago wasn't fit 
for delicate children. 

125 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

That started her thinking, thinking seriously. 
She had the money, the energy, and the ability to 
try her experiment. Now she runs a model dairy 
farm at Rock River, and does it on a business basis. 
She has assigned a certain sum for the purpose, and 
it has to cover the experiment. When the bull 
puts his head through the window for the tenth 
time, the window stays broken, if funds are low. 
The farm has to carry the farming expenses. But 
the babies of Chicago are getting better milk — 
pure, clean milk; and Ruth McCormick is one of 
the active brains at the root of the movement. 

She preached in church one Sunday at Rock 
River. No, her text wasn't "Bargains in Bulls''. 
But the preacher had been suddenly taken ill, and 
he asked her if she would speak to the congregation. 

She did. Her text didn't come out of the Bible, 
but she got her points home, and it was a rattling 
good sermon. Of course, facing an audience wasn't 
new to her. She has been a political campaigner 
for many years, and she can size up the psychology 
of an audience quicker than most speakers. 

Few women in official life have the versatility or 
dynamic personality of Mrs. McCormick. She is 
a clever politician, an ardent suffragist, a social 
leader, an expert horsewoman, an effective writer, 

126 



MRS. MEDILL McCORMICK 

and a successful farmer. She is simple and direct 
in her methods, and very business-like. 

As a daughter of Mark Hanna, so long the auto- 
crat of the G. 0. P., she learned the political game 
early. She played a prominent part in the fasci- 
nating life at the ''Little White House'* which had 
been famous for nearly a century, as the foregather- 
ing place for wit, beauty, fashion, and statesman- 
ship. 

Not even during its prominence as a political 
stronghold throughout the Civil War did this 
celebrated old Taylor Mansion on Jackson Place 
attain the distinction that came to it through Mark 
Hanna's famous country sausage and pancake 
breakfasts. 

It has been said that hospitality and sausage 
often masked political batteries of the powerful 
Republican leader, to whom politics was the 
breath of life. 

However, these repasts became an institution 
that were the joy of hotel-fed epicures and the 
ambition of the uninitiated into Washington 
society. 

Ruth was her father's idol, and she accepted his 
friends as her own. She was particularly devoted 
to the Roosevelts. 

127 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

While Mrs. McCormick runs the farm as a pri- 
vate enterprise of her own, and not as the wife of 
a farmer, she takes time off to keep a finger on the 
poHtical pulse. She always goes with Medill on 
his travels, and has even learned stenography the 
better to assist him. Oh, she's thorough in her 
methods, I can tell you. 

Yet she finds time to play. She loves her horses, 
and the whole family rides every day, every one of 
them. That is part of life's program. 

The McCormick children are being brought up 
very simply, even if it is a butler who hands them 
the rice pudding. The mechanical marvels and 
extravagant toys which so often are the accompani- 
ment of wealth don't figure on the McCormick 
Christmas tree. 

You should see the simple, useful toys the chil- 
dren get. The small son, exhibiting one of his 
gifts, a money book, in which you stuck coins and 
pasted pictures over them, said, "When it's full, 
I'm going to buy a dress for muwer — a yellow one. 
I like yellow best." 

And then he continued to gather the pine 
needles which had fallen from the Christmas tree, 
and to stuff little cushions with them. 

I heard Ruth McCormick make a singular state- 

128 



MRS. MEDILL McCORMICK 

ment once, and I always remember it. She was 
referring to her own upbringing. 

"When I was going out to dinner, my mother 
always sent me to my room an hour beforehand,'' 
she said. "I often protested and said that it 
wouldn't take me so long to dress. But mother 
used to say that you owe something to your hostess, 
besides looking your best. Compose your mind 
and prepare that for the occasion, as well as' your 
hair, and your gown — the least you can do is 
contribute something to the evening's pleasure." 

I wonder how many people ever think of the 
responsibility to a hostess in this light! They 
expect the party to give them pleasure, but they 
needn't contribute anything. As a matter of fact, 
I don't believe many people think of the question 
at all. If they are enjoying themselves, they are 
pleasant or brilliant, according to their limitations. 
But if they are bored and the party falls flat, they 
won't exert themselves to help it out. 

Mrs. McCormick's Saturday night suppers are 
quite a social event. She used to have them on 
Sundays. Here you meet the foremost people in 
official life — diplomats, judges. Cabinet officers, 
Senators, writers, and unofficial society as well. 

In order to avoid that fearful barrier which 

129 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

precedence erects, Mrs. McCormick does not seat 
her guests in the orthodox way. This is one of the 
few places where the varying grades can meet on 
equal terms. Thay dodge about among small 
tables where supper is served, and the great and 
near-great hobnob with the less great. 

It is strictly informal, but delightful. She is an 
excellent hostess, easy, gracious, teeming with 
interest, and steeped in practical knowledge on 
many phases of life. When she talks, she knows 
what she is talking about. It is a change! She 
is always smartly dressed at these parties. 

Foreign titles and simple folk eddy and swirl 
in the big rooms which open into each other, and 
are set for supper; and you get light chatter and 
pleasant banter, mixed with heavyweight politics, 
and the whole shot through with a ribbon of 
laughter. 

When you make a list of the big women in Wash- 
ington, you can't afford to leave out Ruth McCor- 
mick. She would stand alone, if she were not 
propped up by a Senator husband on one side, and 
the Hanna millions on the other. If she had been 
born poor and obscure she would have fought her 
way to the top in any case. 

She is the sort you can't keep under. 

130 



MRS. MILES POINDEXTER 

tOTTIE, I wish you'd steal my silk stockings 
J or nightgowns. I'm quite out of it — I've 
nothing to talk about," Mrs. Poindexter 
said to her colored cook when she came back from 
a luncheon one day. 

" *Deed, ma'am," said Lottie, "I don't have to 
steal none of yo' stockings to give you something 
to talk about!" 

Now, don't you think Lottie was right? 

Mrs. Miles Poindexter had proved to her friends 
in private, to her hostesses, and her guests that 
her conversation wasn't dependent upon a minor 
domestic tragedy. She has recently convinced 
the reading public that the stored-up impressions 
of over a dozen years of Capital society have grown 
a very fine point to them. 

You know how she broke out into print in her 
home paper (Spokane, isn't it?) soon after the elec- 
tion. She confided to the simple Westerners some 
of the things that happen in Washington — awful 
things, such as liquor being served in Congressional 
homes despite the Eighteenth Amendment, and 

131 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

the privileges and perquisites that go with certain 
Cabinet jobs. 

They say — ^but of course you know that all they 
say isn't true — that Miles was most annoyed, 
that he didn't come home till quite late the night 
the storm broke. For of course the storm broke 
when the Spokane papers reached Washington. 

Now, the righteous ones are demanding the 
names of all breakers of commandments and con- 
ventions in the great Capital city. 

"She's most indiscreet!" remarked one Cabinet 
wife. "Most indiscreet, I call it. Why, if I said 
those things my husband wouldn't " 

"Get a diplomatic appointment," a Senator's 
wife concluded for her, with perhaps a tinge of 
malice. 

Mrs. Poindexter isn't the kind of woman who 
yields readily to restrictions — undue restrictions 
she might call them — and apparently she is not 
going to permit diplomacy to tie her tongue. 

As a girl she was a wild, attractive, open-air 
youngster, who made friends with all the stray 
dogs and quaint characters in the neighborhood. 

She was playing tennis one day, when a newly 
arrived, eligible young man was being introduced. 

"Come here, my dear," said a matron to the 

132 




Harris ^^ Ewing 



MRS. MILES POINDEXTER 



MRS. MILES POINDEXTER 

future Mrs. Poindexter. "I want you to meet 
Mr. Blank." 

"The man hasn't been born that I would cross 
the tennis court to meet. He's got to come to me," 
and she served a smashing ball across the net. 

I have an idea that young man is now a brother- 
in-law. 

When Miles Poindexter arrived in town some 
time later, he made a habit of having Sunday 
supper at her home. I really believe she married 
him to cm'e him of the habit. 

The Miles Poindexter wedding wasn't fashion- 
able in the accepted sense. The bride-elect in- 
sisted on inviting all the stray dogs and strange 
creatures that she had made her friends. The 
wedding gifts didn't make the imposing array of 
silver and crystal that went to the furnishing of 
her sister's home. 

No, indeed, but there was a genuine affection 
behind each simple gift that came from those poor 
old people, the cobbler and the carpenter, and all 
the others. 

There is more than a dash of Indian blood in 
Mrs. Poindexter's veins; but I think it is from her 
Irish paternity that she gets her sense of humor. 

She seldom goes anywhere that the fun does not 

135 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

outweigh the boredom. And she doesn't mind if 
she affords the other guests equal amusement. 
She laughs at the insistence on precedence by 
many of the lower-rank officials, but I fancy she 
is a bit of a stickler for her proper place. 

Some carry this code to extreme. At official 
functions it is right to observe it, but it does seem 
absurd to carry it into purely friendly affairs. 

I remember a luncheon given by the wife of an 
author. The guests, numbering about a dozen, 
were a group of social and official women, gathered 
together simply because the hostess liked each one 
personally. There was no political tag to the 
little party. 

They sat around after lunch, chatting merrily, 
for it was a dull winter day, and the fire crackled 
invitingly indoors. One woman had an appoint- 
ment with the dentist, but she sat and sat, and 
fidgeted, and looked worried. Then a Senator's 
wife — I have forgotten whether it was Mrs. 
Towner or Mrs. Borah — realizing that she was 
the highest ranking official present, got up, went 
to the door, permitted the custodian of the aching 
tooth to liberate herself and go, and then returned 
to the cosy fireside. 

Now did you ever hear anything so absolutely 

136 



MRS. MILES POINDEXTER 

silly, at a little family gathering, you might almost 
call it! 

Indeed, there are some Congressmen's wives 
who resent one of lower grade — that is one who 
has been in the Capital a shorter period — stepping 
into an elevator in front of them. 

Mrs. Poindexter, of course, as I have said, is 
very frank and outspoken. You must admu-e her 
candor, even though you condemn her indiscretion. 

Have you heard the latest conundrum? 

"Is indiscretion the key to diplomacy, or is it 
to be found with good intentions — making paving 
stones to hell?'' 

Ask Mrs. Poindexter. She says that she wasn't 
indiscreet, merely truthful. What she said, other 
people thought, but hadn't the courage to say. 
It was the interpretation put upon her remarks, 
she claims, that caused the trouble. 

I don't think the Denbys realized how thrice 
blessed they were, until the fact was pointed out. 
They hadn't noticed those special perquisites that 
went with the Navy job — the decorative effect of 
uniforms at their receptions. I think Mrs. Poin- 
dexter ought to write a book, and call it "The 
Awakening of Washington". 

I told you how she faced up to Mrs. Borah, when 

137 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

that little lady offered condolence on the Poin- 
dexter defeat. When Mrs. Medill McCormick 
expressed regret over the same catastrophe, Mrs. 
Poindexter again had her fling. 

"Why didn't Medill come out and speak for 
him, if you were so anxious to have Miles elected?'' 
she asked. 

"Now, why didn't you ask me instead?" said 
Ruth McCormick, laughing. "I'd have come like 
a shot!" 

The Poindexters lived in a house in Washington, 
not an apartment, and Mrs. Poindexter took her 
share in the household duties. Knowing how men 
grow weary of hotel-cooked food, she often offered 
her old friends the solace of a nice home-cooked 
dinner. It wasn't a party, it was a case of joining 
the family — a much greater privilege, really. 

One man had some special fancy, I have for- 
gotten whether it was rice pudding or having his 
coffee with his dinner. Lottie was made aware of 
the fact, and all was well. 

A year later the same man came to dinner again, 
and this time his wish was anticipated. 

"You've a wonderful memory, Mrs. Poindexter," 
he said, noting the preparation. 

"Don't thank me," said Mrs. Poindexter. 

138 



MRS. MILES POINDEXTER 

"Lottie had a look through the door at you, and 
remembered your taste. She is a marvel that way. 
She has only to serve a guest once, and she remem- 
bers whether he likes his steak rare or French 
dressing on his salad." 

Mrs. Poindexter seems to sense the perils of 
Washington society with amazing perspicacity. 
On one thing she is particularly emphatic — that 
is the necessity for wives to accompany their 
husbands to the Capital. 

I don't know whether this is a tribute to the 
charming Washington women, or an indication of 
weakness in Congressional husbands. But the 
fact remains that many a romance has been 
wrecked on that reef. Before she left for the won- 
ders of Peru, Mrs. Poindexter tried to tie a warning 
bell to that rock. She proclaimed to the women 
of the world — Congress, Senate, official, social, 
and diplomatic wives— "DON'T allow your hus- 
band to come to Washington alone. You owe a 
duty to him and to yourself, as well as to your 
children. There are flappers and buds, wily 
widows, grass and sod; matrons and grand- 
mothers, and strange, alluring spinsters. If you 
love him, hold his hand, lest he perish in this 
whirlpool — this social Washington." 

139 



CABINET WIVES 

I HAVE told you that the wives of the present 
Cabinet are not brilliant social stars; they are 
more like the Milky Way. You know, origi- 
nality isn't comfortable to live with. It's all right 
to read about. I mean originality in wives. 

There is always a breathless pause before the 
announcement of a new Cabinet. The men and 
the politically minded women may be intensely 
interested in the capability of the chosen, but 
most of the women — well, they are just dying to 
get a glimpse of the wives. What is she like? Is 
she smart or dowdy? Is she a bee or a butterfly? 
Does she scratch or merely purr? Oh, I've heard 
them, over and over again, as each new Cabinet 
has been announced. 

Of course the difference between Cabinet and 
Congress is the difference between selection and 
election. You might call them the "Select" and 
the " Elect". The Cabinet comes under the head- 
ing of "Select". 

They escape the travail of an election campaign; 
yet on the result of the election depends Cabinet 

140 



CABINET WIVES 

selection. Cabinet rank often falls to a good 
political campaigner, but defeat is not a personal 
affair, it belongs to the party. 

After an election there is a wave of great expect- 
ancy. Afraid lest opportunity knock and find 
them absent, crowds flock to Washington. A 
Cabinet is chosen, and the personnel of staff must 
be appointed. Loyal party men buy tickets for 
the early doors, and wait and wait. 

Sometimes they wait until their modest capital 
is all gone. I have even known them actually to 
sleep in the parks. Optimistic, during those 
early months of readjustment, they continue to 
hope that some niche might be found, in recom- 
pense for loyal party service rendered. 

Washington is crowded with people who have 
served a term in Cabinet, Congress, Senate, or 
some official capacity, and have refused to quit. 
They have become barnacles on the keel of the 
Capital. Once they have tasted official life, noth- 
ing else will suffice. 

You know the Army and Navy Club? That's 
full of retired colonels and ex-admirals, who cling 
closely to the Capital. Most of them have 
hobbies now — patent armament, a new gun device, 
a submarine attachment. Probably it won't 

141 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

work, but it is a theme for lively discussion at the 
club; and what more could you want? They are 
quite harmless and unheard of, except when they 
want a few millions appropriated to develop a 
patent scheme to revolutionize war. However, 
they are easily silenced. 

But the ex-Congressman ! He is another propo- 
sition. A Cabinet appointment or perhaps a 
diplomatic post seems the Mecca. 

Mrs. Charles Hughes 
Consider the Secretary of State and Mrs. 
Hughes — they lead very simple lives. With age, 
Mr. Hughes grows more genial, and having 
abandoned the clerical cut of his whiskers, his 
face foliage now assumes more international pro- 
portions — it savors of diplomacy, a fringed setting 
for peaceful policies. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hughes are rather distinguished 
looking, but I believe the Lansings were the most 
decorative people we had for a long time. With 
John Barrett standing smiling blandly on the 
broad marble steps of the Pan-American Building, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Lansing — ^America made a 
mighty good showing. 
Do you remember how partial Mrs. Lansing 

142 



CABINET WIVES 

waslto silver lace? She certainly had good taste 
in dress. 

Mrs. Hughes is eight degrees removed from the 
Mayflower passenger list. Yes, really and truly. 
I know that boat was much overcrowded, but I 
think she has a label of their luggage, or a souvenir 
spoon, or something to prove the verity of the state- 
ment. Not that anyone would doubt Mrs. 
Hughes's word! She's not that kind. Her Chris- 
tianity isn't veneer. She is a regular churchgoer, 
but she doesn't leave her principles in the pew for 
Sunday exercise only. 

"Somehow, Mrs. Hughes always reminds me of 
a Simday afternoon — quiet, peaceful, serene. She 
doesn't get hurried or flurried. There is a gracious 
calm about her, yet at the same time, a lack 
of ardor. Perhaps she is a trifle too self- 
disciplined. 

Her father was Judge Carter, a friend of Whistler 
and many other artists. He owned about fifty 
Whistler etchings, yes, and a Rembrandt or two. 
Of course, she couldn't miss a heritage like that. 

The Judge had another hobby, collecting prom- 
ising young law students. If he found one ham- 
pered by financial difficulties, he would invite him 
to read law in his office. Why, more than a 

143 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

hundred men, now eminently successful, owe their 
early start to the Judge. 

And one of them is the present Secretaiy of 
State. The Judge liked young Charles Evans 
Hughes, and it was with perfect confidence that 
he handed over his daughter, Antoinette, to the 
young lawyer, who was later to become Governor 
of New York and then Secretary of State. 

If there's anything that annoys Mrs. Hughes, 
it is that people should misunderstand her husband. 

*'He isn't austere," she protests. "He is the 
most genial, human, jovial person." 

She doesn't mind what you think about her. 
It is a matter of indifference. She is no lover of 
publicity, and her entertainments are a duty faith- 
fully discharged. You can see that. The larger 
fimctions are held at the Pan-American Building 
among the parrots and the palms. Less formal 
parties are staged in the big house, called home, 
with its thirty rooms, two libraries, and a ballroom. 

Last year, at the White House garden party, 
some one commented on a pretty frock Mrs. 
Hughes was wearing. It was creamy lace, with 
touches of dark velvet. 

"I do hke your new frock, Mrs. Hughes!" said 
one woman. 

144 



CABINET WIVES 

"New frock!" and Mrs Hughes smiled. "Yes, 
it is new. I found it in my wardrobe. I hadn't 
seen it for over a year, and had forgotten about it." 

That's Mrs. Hughes. 

Mrs. John Weeks 

The Secretary of War isn't new to Washington. 
For nearly twenty years he has been a member of 
the legislature or executive. 

Have you noticed how many of the official wives 
have been daughters of state governors, or aspir- 
ants for the office? Some day I'll make a list of 
them, and count heads. There are quite a lot. 
Politics seem to be infectious. They catch it in 
their youth, and it sticks. 

Mrs. Weeks was brought up in a political atmos- 
phere, because her father was John S. Sinclair of 
New Hampshire, who three times ran for governor. 
He didn't get it, but that didn't prevent the 
atmosphere of local politics from seeping in. 

The Weeks' romance budded and blossomed in 
sunny Florida, and their two children have now 
left the parental nest, and started in the marriage 
business themselves. 

Grandma Weeks' chief recreation seems to be 
the two Davidge children, and grandpa is tremen- 

10 145 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

dously proud of the small boy who is called for 
him. 

Well, well, how time passes! We older ones 
will soon be crowded off the stage. 

Mrs. Henry Wallace 

Some years ago, a friend met Mrs. Wallace with 
her latest baby. 

"Why, Mrs. Wallace, I didn't know you had a 
baby that age." 

Smilii;^ rather proudly, Mrs. Wallace replied: 

"I always have a baby that age." 

Mrs. Wallace has the largest family in the 
present Cabinet, six, nicely balanced into three 
boys and three girls. The Wallace pair were 
always methodical! 

No wonder the Wallace daughters are gilt- 
edged, when they inherit a golden thatch from 
both sides of the house. Like attracts like, they 
say, but it isn't often that two golden heads com- 
bine. But the "sun god's touch", as the Indian 
legend expresses it, had rested on the head of 
Henry Cantwell Wallace, and Gary May Brod- 
head, and there are gleams of gold in the sunlight 
when they roam, bareheaded, on the beautiful 
home estate, "Mayswood". 

146 



CABINET WIVES 

Do you know how the Wallace homestead got 
its name? Dreaming dreams, as all little girls do, 
little Gary May Brodhead built her airy castles in 
a grove of trees. There were to be pillars and 
porches, and fireplaces, high ceilings, an old- 
fashioned garden of hollyhocks and larkspur and 
sweet-smelling flowers. There were also to be box 
hedges, and this wonderful old Colonial home was 
to be set in a grove of trees. She wasn't planning 
for a career in art or literature, but all she learned 
was ultimatel}^ to be applied to making this dream 
come true. 

When prosperity opened the way, Mrs. Wallace 
set out in search of the location. So determined 
was she to protect all the trees from destruction, 
that Mr. Wallace promptly called it "May's 
Wood". 

Mr. Wallace was digging woolly worms at the 
Iowa Agricultural College when ^he saw May 
Brodhead finding out the component parts of a 
well-balanced meal. She did a bit of grubbing in 
the earth, too, and is very proud of her diploma in 
horticulture. When young Wallace the farmer 
thought of that golden-haired girl, he couldn't 
plow straight. He had a bad case of it, so 
he persuaded her to apply herself to the 

149 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

problem of dietary for two. That's over thirty 
years ago. 

Well, it was a long way home to the farm on 
that adventm^ous honeymoon. They struck a 
blizzard — a real Iowa blizzard, which was enough 
to chill the romantic ardor of less practical lovers. 
But they haven't forgotten their early start, and 
each of the half dozen offspring has been trained 
to be self-supporting. 

Mr. Wallace, now that he is Secretary of Agri- 
culture, is supervising the United States experi- 
ments in producing higher-grade stock and blight- 
proof vegetables. Recently his department 
evolved a new breakfast fruit, a tanjelo. This has 
all the flavor of a grapefruit, without its bad 
manners. The easy courtesy with which the 
tangerine conforms to breakfast etiquette has 
been grafted onto the grapefruit, and eliminates 
its tendency to spit. Really, the tanjelo is a 
well-behaved fruit. 

Mr. Wallace was speaking of the vast improve- 
ment he hoped this would prove, and how the 
experts were able to eradicate unmannerly traits 
in the vegetable kingdom. 

"Did you ever try to evolve a colic-less baby?" 
asked a young mother, whose pale face spoke of 

150 



CABINET WIVES 

sleepless nights, "or eliminate teething tend- 
encies?" 

The Secretary scratched his head and nodded. 

"Um — er — that's not exactly my department." 

Mrs. Edwin Denby 

The Denbys didn't know how fortunate they 
really were until Mrs. Miles Poindexter broke out 
into journalism, and told the world and Oregon 
all about it. 

Everyone loves a sailor, and the naval uniforms 
are the most effective decorations that you could 
possibly have at a party. And a ship to sail in! 
Why, the Denbys are certainly the beloved of the 
gods! And to think that they didn't know it 
before. Well! well! 

Mrs. Denby's father was Secretary during the 
Cleveland administration, so her school days were 
spent in the Capital. It was before the Secretary 
retired from Congress that she was captured by 
the most eligible of the Congressional set. They 
spent a six months' honeymoon in Europe, the 
Denby motor truck having set him on the road 
toward becoming a millionaire. We have had 
quite a lot of millionaries to whom the perfume of 
petrol clings! 

151 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Mrs. Albert Fall 

Of the Harding Cabinet, two have retired. 
Secretary Fall decided that Interior Affairs were 
inferior affairs, and has slipped the yoke. The 
tall timbers and their control had something to do 
with the Fall resignation from Cabinet, so the 
wise guys say. Secretary Wallace is defending the 
tall timbers, just as his wife had defended May's 
Wood. The trees still stand. 

Mrs. Fall comes of pioneer stock, and is an 
expert cattlewoman. After her marriage, she ran 
the cattle ranch, while Mr. Fall practiced law. 
She looked after lumber, railroad, and mining 
interests as well as managing the ranch out in 
Mexico while he was in the Capital. Did you ever 
taste a pat of her butter? She often sent a parcel 
of it across to Washington, but she herself didn't 
waste much time on the city. 

Then there was Will Hays, the Prince of Paprika 
as he was sometimes called, when he infused so 
much pep into his campaign speeches that it 
endangered the sanctity of his person. His office 
as Postmaster General was brief. Now he purges 
the plays of the silver screen, and quotes Scripture 
to confound the Christians when they rise in 
wrath against his judgment. 

152 




MRS. EDWIN DENBY 



CABINET WIVES 

I remember a speech he made before thousands 
of club women about a year ago. I never saw so 
much energy expended in oratory. He read the 
speech from a pile of pages, not clipped together. 
As he finished each sheet, he grasped it, crushed it 
in his hand, flung his arm aloft, menacingly, 
imploringly, in condemnation. Then his arm 
swept the horizon from right to left, with several 
vertical gestures, and when the end of the next 
page was reached, he flung the crumpled sheet 
violently from him and grabbed another. No one 
knew where the sheet was going. His aim was 
not true. Mrs. Thomas Winter, who was presid- 
ing, watched with apprehension, and at the con- 
clusion she sat knee-deep in crumpled pages. 

Mr. Hays was trying to convince these club 
women of the sincerity of his desire for movie 
regeneration, and was asking their cooperation. 
"The heart of America is sound!" repeated many 
times, with increasing volume, made a perfect 
crescendo, but it should have earned more applause 
than it did. 

Then he drew the analogy between the baby that 
has to be amused to keep it from fighting and 
wriggling and going ''Red," and the multitude of 
working people, who must have their amusements 

155 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

— the movie — or go ''Red". It was a fine piece 
of oratory. But when he pictured the squirming, 
wriggHng, howling baby — he did that well — he 
concluded, "But if you shake a rattle in front of 
that two-day-old baby, it is instantly quiet." 

Well, he knew they were hard-boiled, but he 
didn't realize how hard-boiled those club women 
were — and he a father, too, to make a break like 
that. But I may say the manuscript didn't state 
the age of the baby. That was an unfortunate 
afterthought. 

It was too bad, Paprika, for they were mostly 
mothers, and the baby business usually gets them, 
doesn't it? 



156 



LIMITATION OF SOCIAL ARMAMENTS 

REPRESENTING your country in Congress 
isn't always a money-making business. 
^Rents are high, exorbitantly high, in Wash- 
ington, and the cost of living is quite different from 
the old home town, with the hams on the rafter 
and the hens as vocal as the best publicist. 

Dress is another hurdle to leap. Certain clothes 
are required for certain functions, and the cost 
must be met. It is all very well for the millionaire 
Senators and the near-rich. But the man who 
carries his stock in trade in his head, and turns 
that over to his country, finds it very hard to make 
ends meet. 

Dress is a subject which requires both time and 
money if you mean to specialize in it. Some have 
the time, but not the money. Others have the 
money, but they are cursed with appalling ideas. 
You generally find the latter starting the day 
encrusted with beadwork and bad taste. Be- 
jeweled for breakfast, dinner means merely the 
elimination of a few more clothes — half a sleeve 
and a slice of bodice. Some know more about 

157 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

trucks than tucks, while others get more thrills 
out of politics than petticoats. You get them all 
ways. 

We have heard a great deal about the Limitation 
of Armaments. A conference was called to discuss 
the problem in order to eliminate the menace of 
competition. The international naval race was 
imposing national burdens which threatened dis- 
aster, and a halt was called. 

But the naval race was nothing compared with 
the social race, and yet we hear no suggestion of a 
conference for the Limitation of Social Armaments. 
(Senator Borah, please sit up and take notice!) 

In this arena competition is so fierce that unless 
a limit is set, it will not only deter worthy aspirants 
from contesting Congressional honors, but prove 
disastrous to those already here. They are facing 
a further plunge — or social extinction. In that 
case, they may as well be dead as live in Wash- 
ington. 

Yes, I know that many of the country's repre- 
sentatives are dollar kings of the copper, coal, or 
cash variety. While they sit in Senate, their 
wealth grows overnight. Others are merely rich. 
Quite a few, whose wealth is won with head or 
hand, find all private income stopped when they 

158 



LIMITATION OF SOCIAL ARMAMENTS 

divert their one machine to the manufacture of 
more laws. 

It is bad enough with Congressmen, but it is a 
few degrees worse for the Senators, and the salary 
leaves an ugly gap between the ins and the outs, 
where dollars are concerned. 

To find a home in Washington is the first and 
worst problem. The city knows you must come, 
and exacts a premium on the inevitable. You pay 
heavily for the privilege. The race begins here. 

A Congressional wife from a far-away state had 
worn her poor, tired feet to blisters in the search 
for a home. 

One day, accompanied by a friend, she passed 
the beautiful home of the Secretary of State, with 
its thirty rooms, two libraries, and a ballroom. 

"That is Mr. Hughes's house," remarked her 
friend, indicating the big house. 

The woman stopped a moment and regarded it 
critically. ''What a big place! Do they rent 
rooms?" she asked innocently and with perfect 
sincerity, the prospect of renting a couple of 
back rooms there evidently presenting itself as a 
solution of her problem. 

The millionaire, or half-million group, may 
install themselves at the Willard or Wardman 

159 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Park Hotel until some suitable mansion is vacated. 
Or they may prefer to dwell gregariously under one 
roof, where a miniature world moves laughingly 
and the carpets spring like velvet tripe. If you 
can pay, all the world is yours. If you can't — 

Most of the new Senatorial families spend the 
first few weeks at one of the big hotels. Here they 
feel the thrill of triumph. It is such a delightful 
change from the simplicity of the home town. You 
merely press the button, and your wants are 
fulfilled. 

Then the bill arrives. 

Without calling it such, the Limitation of Social 
Armaments is discussed in family council. Imme- 
diately a more modest menage is sought, and 
sought, and sought again. There are lesser hotels 
where the gilt is less golden, and the carpets less 
like tripe, though a certain pretentiousness is 
maintained, which seems partially to assuage the 
pangs of that first step down. 

By ingenuity and economy, appearances are 
kept up in the social race, and no matter what is 
missing six days in the week, there is evidence of 
plenitude on the seventh when visitors are 
received. 

One Senator's wife, unable to stand the financial 

160 



LIMITATION OF SOCIAL ARMAMENTS 

strain, took root in a fine old house which was 
being rented to roomers. But she made one 
stipulation — the house was hers on Thursdays. 
On that day no roomer roamed the corridor, and 
no proprietress poked her inquisitive nose from 
below stairs. On Thursdays the whole house was 
sacrosanct; it was a Senatorial residence. But 
it took a six-day sacrifice to make this possible. 

Often little groups of near-rich dwell in limited 
competition among themselves; sometimes under 
one roof. If one had a dozen roses at her recep- 
tion, the other must have two dozen. The price 
of the extra dozen is cut out of less competitive 
purchasing. 

There is always an urge to struggle up another 
rung; to move to a bigger apartment or a hotel a 
trifle more ornate, and to mix with those more 
noted. In the struggle to reach the next rung, 
some ballast has to be jettisoned to let the balloon 
rise. And that ballast is — well, it isn't always 
the same. Perhaps the sacrifice is pride. Perhaps 
— but you know the things that are thrown over- 
board in the mad race for a mean objective. And 
after all, what is the goal? 

Lunches, dinners, and teas have to be faced in 
this race, and the wealthy have set a standard so 

11 161 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

high that the utmost economy is needed between 
•parties to enable the poor competitor to keep in 
the picture at all. A little borrowing is done 
between friendly factions, and if everything isn't 
exactly "all wool and a yard wide" it is as near 
the real thing as circumstances and a Congres- 
sional salary will permit. 

Like nations, whose income is spent on unpro- 
ductive armaments, a pretense of power, so the 
money required for home and family essentials is 
too often expended in an effort to keep up appear- 
ances — a similar pretense. 

This competition, which so often breeds jealousy, 
extends throughout the range of things to eat and 
do and wear. It permeates everything. You find 
it in furs as well as jewels. They start out with a 
rabbit coat, and aren't satisfied until they have 
sables. A moonstone necklace is all very well 
until it begets a craving for diamonds. 

Mrs. Stephen Elkins 
Speaking of furs reminds me of Mrs. Elkins. 
You know she was the daughter, wife, and mother 
of a Senator. It's sort of in the blood. Well, if 
she has one hobby, it's furs. She certainly has 
magnificent ones, and wears them well. She was 

162 



LIMITATION OF SOCIAL ARMAMENTS 

pouring tea in a drafty house one afternoon, and 
had shed her sables before undertaking the task. 

Soon she began to shiver, and commented on 
the chilHness of the room. A kindly soul from a 
small town, moved to pity, immediately retrieved 
her own piece of rabbit from the cloakroom, and 
insisted on placing this rather moth-eaten scarf 
about Mrs. Elkins' shoulders. Mrs. Elkins con- 
tinued to pour; the moth-eaten rabbit skin kept 
off the draft, and the sable coat hung in the cloak- 
room. One person at least was happy, the little 
woman from the small town, who had that glow 
of virtue which accompanies an act of supreme 
unselfishness. 

She hadn't lived in Washington long enough to 
be able to grade people according to their furs. 
Of course, there is the sable set, the squirrel circle, 
the seal group, and the skunk party, as well as the 
mere raccoons. No, dear, I didn't say anythmg 
about the cats. 

You remember Mrs. Elkins's daughter, Kath- 
erine, who married Billy Hitt after a rather spec- 
tacular social career. They got divorced about 
three years ago, in Paris, wasn't it? Now they 
are married again. Yes, quite romantic. Why 
did they get divorced? Really, I'm not quite sure. 

163 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

One hears so many different things, and most of 
the rumors don't carry a birth certificate. 

It wasn't Hke Katherine Elkins to do the hack- 
neyed thing; it was sure to be original. The tri- 
angle and incompatibility have been worn thread- 
bare. Temperament is really only temper in 
crepe de chine instead of calico. I did hear that 
Billy Hitt had a very rich old aunt, or grandaunt, 
who loved Billy very dearly. But the grandaunt 
didn't like Billy's choice of wife. She had made 
her will before Billy got married, but she showed 
symptoms of changing it. Then came the divorce, 
and soon Billy v/as courting his wife more furiously 
than ever. I also hear that grandaunt was safely 
dead before the remarriage of the Hitts. 

I call th^t picturesque, don't you? 



164 



WASHINGTON'S DIPLOMATIC SET 

EAST is East and West is West," but the 
twain certainly meet in Washington. 
Here democracy is half submerged in 
diplomacy. The Orient and the Occident, the 
Old World and the New are playfellows in the 
field of finesse and finance. For after all, that is 
the root of all the bowing and bargaining. Every 
right and concession, every privilege and power is 
eventually translated into money values. Call it 
what you will, that is the fundamental basis. Like 
the capitals in older countries, each nation has a 
business manager inside our city walls to facilitate 
friendly intercourse, to encourage reciprocity of 
trade, to gain as many concessions and concede as 
few privileges as possible, and to do it all politely. 
That's diplomacy! 

The language of diplomacy is smooth; the barb 
is filed off the diplomatic tongue. But the words 
are not mere wind fried in oil. Oh, no! It usually 
takes more than five minutes to train a diplomat, 
and poker is an excellent school for cultivating the 
right facial expression. In diplomacy the victory 
is to the subtle, not the strong. 

165 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

International tangles may become greatly in- 
volved unless women play their part. A snub, a 
slight, a flagrant discourtesy, and who shall say 
how far-reaching its effects! Petticoat govern- 
ment was, is, and always shall be; the method 
alone has changed. The present system depends 
more on sense than sex. 

Madame Riano 

Madame Riano, wife of the Spanish Ambassador, 
was at a dinner one night when venison was served. 
She remarked facetiously: ''Venison! I heard 
some one had shot a deer in the park and here it is ! " 

No, there wasn't a war, but there have been 
wars for less. It all depends on the hostess. 

When a new ambassador arrives in Washington, 
he pays his first visit to the Secretary of State. 
Afterwards, caparisoned in the trimmings of a 
foreign court, he makes a state call at the White 
House, and lays his credentials before the Presi- 
dent. If his papers are in order, his appointment 
is confirmed, and the parties begin. 

First he calls on the senior ambassadors, and 
usually sends an invitation to the whole diplomatic 
corps to attend a reception at the embassy. If 
he is married, the ladies also are invited. 

166 



WASHINGTON'S DIPLOMATIC SET 

The foreign representative at an embassy 
usually enjoys the modest title *' Ambassador 
Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary". At the 
Legation he is ''Envoy Extraordinary and Minis- 
ter Plenipotentiary". A "Charg^ d' Affaires" is 
the foreign representative during the absence or 
prior to the appointment of a fully fledged diplomat 
of higher rank. The larger and more important 
nations have embassies. The smaller and newer 
are content with legations. Now you know all 
about it! 

Some of our foreign guests have tidy little 
personal titles. There is ''Sefior Don Juan Riano- 
Y-Gayangos, Chamberlain to His Majesty 
the King of Spain, Ambassador Extraordinary 
and Plenipotentiary," and "Dr. Ante Tresich 
Bavechich, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister 
Plenipotentiary for the Serbs, Croats, and 
Slovenes." 

From the ambassadorial head there is generally 
a whole procession of counselors, attaches, and 
secretaries. The Japanese numerically head the 
list with about twenty, and Great Britain runs a 
close second. 

The foreign element in Washington adds a spice 
of variety. It creates an international atmosphere, 

167 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

and brings that evasive East and West into closer 
contact. 

At many of the embassies historic treasures have 
been brought from royal palaces abroad to provide 
a picturesque setting for the decorative uniforms. 
To this the elaborate insignia, the gold braid, the 
medals, and sometimes plumed hats deepen the 
color harmonies and add a pantomimic splendor. 

Madame Sze 

The Chinese Embassy, where the Sze family 
presides, has wonderful old lacquer cabinets, 
carved ivory, and still embroideries. Madame 
Sze is a petite figure and very dainty. Her dress 
is a cross between ancient Chinese and modern 
American. I remember this little hostess receiving 
alone one day. A steady stream of large and over- 
whelming Americans swept into her room, and the 
little Chinese woman, in her black velvet dress — 
a skirt and Chinese blouse buttoned at the throat — 
was quite obscured, but not the least embarrassed. 

In quiet, careful English she greeted each guest, 
smiled, her pearl earrings bobbing with each jerky, 
little bow, then turned to the next, as the human 
ribbon unwound from the front door to the dining 
room. 

168 




©Harris & Ewing 



MADAME SZE 



WASHINGTON'S DIPLOMATIC SET 

In the household of the Chinese Embassy two 
kitchens are installed — one in which Chinese food 
is cooked, and the other where American dishes 
are prepared. They serve strange delicacies and 
some of them have a very simple basis. A wonder- 
ful conserve aroused my curiosity one day. It 
was made of carrots coated in glace sugar. 

Japan, also, has sent treasures of her flowery art 
to outfit the home of her American representative, 
Mr. Hanihara. He has the funniest little gurgle 
in his throat when he talks, like a subterranean 
chuckle. 

At the British Embassy, Sir Auckland Geddes 
exhibits with pride his latest acquisition. This is 
the carpet used at the Crystal Palace, London, on 
which Queen Victoria stood to perform the opening 
ceremony of that building many years ago. He 
also has a Persian rug with a wonderful history, 
which he resurrected from the royal storehouse, or 
attic, on his last visit. 

Madame Jusserand 

Madame Jusserand loves old lace, and you 

always see some of this at the French Embassy. 

Entertainments here are strictly formal. Madame 

Jusserand doesn't encourage the habit of turning 

171 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

diplomatic calls into a circus, and there is a chilly 
atmosphere for the uninvited guest who merely 
does the round out of curiosity. 

Prince Caetan, the Italian Ambassador, adds 
another to the city's eligible foreign bachelors. 
He hasn't been here very long, although he knows 
America well. He was a civil engineer and has 
worked hard on big construction works in this 
country. He is one of the ornamental kind, and 
being handsome, titled, eligible — oh, he is doomed 
to great popularity. He can't possibly escape. 

The first official visitors found the German 
Embassy very cold. Frau Wiedfelt was warmly 
clad. A comment on the chilliness brought the 
reply: "We are used to it. The French have 
taken all our coal." 

The German Embassy wasn't the center of 
gaiety last season, and a woolen union suit was 
the first necessity when calling. 

An idea persists that the British and the Irish 
are always in conflict, and there is an hereditary 
enmity between them. Washington may be 
singular, but it does not confirm that impression. 
There is a most friendly interchange between the 
British Embassy and what is known as the " Irish 
Embassy", the home of the Battens. The rela- 

172 



WASHINGTON'S DIPLOMATIC SET 

tionship is most cordial. The Misses Batten are 
distinctly, if not distinguishedly, Irish, and Sir 
Auckland Geddes is the representative of His 
Britannic Majesty, so for once, at least, we find 
the shamrock growing at the feet of the rose, as 
it were. 

Italy isn't the only country which is represented 
by a handsome, eligible bachelor. I don't know 
why they call Bohemia by the awkward name of 
Czechoslovakia, but it doesn't detract from the 
popularity of Dr. Berich Stepanek. He is just 
back from his native land. Last season his sister 
acted as hostess at the embassy. Speaking halting 
English, her slow smile, blue eyes, and loosely 
tossed hair seemed adequately to make up for the 
lack of words. It is a wordy world, at best, and 
we need more smiles. 

Dr. Stepanek is musical. He will sit at his 
beloved piano — a lovely instrument, not brown or 
black, but old ivory in shade, matching the keys, 
and play the folk songs and music of his native 
land. I wonder how long he will be left a bachelor! 

Princess Bibesco 
Prince Bibesco represents Rumania. You may 
not have heard of him, but probably his wife has 

173 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

caught your fleeting attention. She was EHzabeth 
Asquith, daughter of the British ex-Prime Minister 
and the noted Margot Asquith. He is very tall, 
but she is quite short, and hasn't got the rosy 
English complexion. She writes — writes quite 
cleverly and daringly. At least, she doesn't peep 
through keyholes. She flings open the door wide 
and says, "Here is a patch of life." Her book, 
''I Have Only Myself to Blame," is probably a 
truthful statement. It betrays little faith and no 
illusions, but much knowledge of life. And the 
Princess is quite young. 

I think she has inherited her mother's sharp 
tongue. After a bridge party one night, her 
unfortunate partner, who had made some blunder, 
said very quietly, "Good-by, woman with the 
serpent's tongue." Throughout the game he had 
made no protest at the verbal flagellation he 
received for his error. 

Wasn't it in similar terms that Kipling once 
referred to Mrs. Asquith, her mother? 



174 



GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT 

A BIG reception at an embassy is an inter- 
esting and spectacular affair. You meet 
official and social America and foreign 
diplomacy swirling and eddying in circles, with a 
singular male backwash toward the corner table. 
What table? Why, where you hear the clink of 
ice in the glass, and the gurgle-gurgle-gurgle out of 
the decanter. You know, embassies are foreign 
soil technically, and once you cross the doormat, 
you may live under foreign rule, so far as the 
Eighteenth Amendment is concerned. 

Lady Geddes 

Probably the most notable reception one season 
was that given by Sir Auckland and Lady Geddes 
for the British Debts Commission. It was a 
brilliant affair ! Let me paint it for you as I saw it. 

Out of a bleak, gray night came the procession 
of staring headlights. Fur-coated women and 
men with tall hats emerged into the brightly 
lighted hall of that large, yellow house, with its 
lamps surmounted with the royal insignia, crowns. 

175 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

The big hall, banked with palms and poinsettias, 
leads to the wide stairway, ascends a dozen steps, 
and turns abruptly to the right and left, a portrait 
of Queen Victoria, in her slim, girlish days, filling 
the wall space where the stair divides. 

The men discarded their coats upstairs; the 
women applied last-minute touches on the first 
floor. 

A bright coal fire threw a cheerful warmth into 
a room much below American temperature. A 
soldier in a scarlet coat and many medals stood 
rigid, his brilliant uniform matching the poin- 
settias. Around his cap was a tartan band, pro- 
claiming his Scottish regiment. 

The guests filed into the small reception room 
where they were announced by Mr. R. V. Tenant, 
the small, slim secretary, who, some one remarked, 
"looked like the Prince of Wales". 

The bay window was filled with palms, and 
great silver bowls of pink roses supplied the floral 
decorative scheme. 

Sir Auckland Geddes welcomed each guest in 
his big, booming voice. He wore the ribbon of his 
Orders and some brilliant stars upon his dress coat. 
Lady Geddes, who does not submerge her English 
complexion under powder, smiled from beneath a 

176 



GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT 

bandeau of diamonds, which matched the white 
and silver of her gown. The host and hostess 
were very gracious. 

Next in line came the Honorable Stanley Bald- 
win, British Chancellor of the Exchequer and head 
of the Debts Commission, and now also Premier. 
He was less impressive than his wife, a large lady, 
resplendent in black and silver. Mr. Norman 
Montague, head of the Bank of England, looked 
more like an admiral than a banker. His financial 
shrewdness was not evident, and he wore an old- 
world aspect in a modern setting. Whiskers are 
so disarming, I think, the mild, orderly kind, not 
the Bolsheviki forest, of course. 

The little group of British bachelors — eight of 
them — who are attached to the embassy, find 
social Washington most responsive, and when they 
entertain, as they so often do, jointly and severally, 
there are few prior engagements that night. These 
handsome, eligible young men are busy stirring 
the social pot to keep the mixture from getting 
lumpy. 

Scraps of conversation mingled with the music 
which floated down over the banisters. 

"Sir Auckland's cousin has been commissioned 
to paint the Canadian Rockies during the four 

12 177 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

seasons — spring, summer, autumn, and winter; a 
delightful experience," said Lady Geddes, but the 
remainder was drowned in a ''Par-don, Madame," 
and a tall, sleek Latin curved courteously at the 
middle and disentangled himself from a wing of 
chiffon. 

Near by came a hearty laugh. ''Ha! ha! ha! 
How do I keep thin?" and Chief Justice Taft 
patted his waistcoat. "Oranges and discipline, 
that's the recipe." 

"Why don't you write a book about Latvia?" 
a little woman in pink was saying. " But write it 
in English. I don't know a thing about your 
country." 

"Ze book is already being written, Madame," 
replied the diminutive M. Louis Seya, Charge 
d' Affaires. 

"Who is that old lady over there — the one in 
black velvet, who looks as if she were wearing a 
chandelier?" as a woman with huge clusters of 
diamonds encrusted about her person disappeared 
before identification. 

"Quick! There goes General Pershing — no, to 
the right. Isn't he handsome? I think he's 
adorable ! ' ' (She was very young and very pretty.) 

"Which is Mary Roberts Rinehart? That one 

178 




© Harris & Euina 



LADY GEDDES 



GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT 

in black?" And two women bobbed their heads 
from side to side to catch a glimpse of the famous 
novelist. 

"Here comes Baron Shidehara!" announced an 
elderly woman, as a group of tiny Japanese tried 
to leak through the crowd into the dining room. 
I was afraid they'd be trampled to death. 

''That's not Shidehara; that is Saburi," came a 
man's drawling voice. 

The crowd thickened to a jam. Trains were 
gathered in and hung over the arm. Frocks were 
obscured from the waist down, and at times little 
more than heads were visible in this sea of fashion. 
Many of the frocks were beautiful, and diadems 
clung about the curly locks of several women. 
Some of the gowns were beautiful; many were 
expensive; a few were ill-advised. 

The English wife of one of the Commission 
remarked with surprise, "How many ladies with 
gray hair wear white gowns! " as if it were not usual 
in her country. 

A tall young woman with a pretty face afforded 
an uninterrupted view of at least the fourteen top 
notches of her lean spine, a revelation justified 
neither on the grounds of art nor education. 

Supper! It was a beautiful supper. The long 

181 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

table was centered with roses, and coffee was 
poured by a butler at each end. A few amateurs 
did some unsolicited pouring of coffee as well as 
the butler. I saw one rudderless dame, the kind 
who doesn't look where she is going or go where 
she is looking, charge into a woman who was 
holding a cup of coffee in her hand. 

Splash! Crash! "Oh, Fm SO sorry; I do hope 
I haven't spoiled your gown," said the bejeweled 
one whose steering gear was out of order. 

"Oh, not at all! I prefer it spotted!" came 
from between lips that housed a mute curse. It 
was a new frock — ^ruined. 

Meanwhile the butler wiped up the brown rivers 
that ran down the long, wrinkled, white gloves, 
and rushed up coffee reinforcements. 

"No, thank you, no more coffee," and she of the 
damaged gown moved away — away toward that 
corner where the ice clinked merrily in the glass. 
In this neighborhood I think she recovered from 
the shock of the catastrophe. 

Trays of glasses were being juggled back and 
forth, but fortunately the trays were round, or the 
corners would have hurt, as they were not held 
aloft, but cut a track through the crowd at its 
broadest point. 

182 



GLIMPSES OF THE GREAT 

The obvious was not labeled, but sandwiches 
and other secretive devices bore a card of intro- 
duction: "chicken and celery" or "cheese and 
olives". 

Punch, wine, and highballs, served with much 
discretion, brought a momentary reprieve to con- 
scientious Congressmen. It was as I have said, 
foreign soil, and of course, "when in Rome, you 
do as the Romans do." 

The music ceased, the guests trickled out the 
door to waiting cars, the fire died out, and there 
was nothing left of the party but a few little sand- 
wiches and the soldier and the poinsettias in the 
hall. 



188 



THE FLORAL OFFENSIVE, OR THE 
BATTLE OF BUDS 

A MONG the Senators are several bachelors — 
/"A^ wealthy bachelors. To them the problem 
of Washington is not securing a home, but 
avoiding one. 

When a single Senator arrives, he is much sought, 
politically and socially. Ofttimes his nebulous 
opinions are in need of molding forces. When 
better can these be applied than after a satisfactory 
dinner? Men — all men — are much more amenable 
to reason after meals. 

The veteran campaigner knows the pitfalls of 
political youth, and by precept, if not example, he 
tries to lead the newcomer safely into the party. 
Republicans and Democrats are equally zealous 
for converts, and expend good meat and persuasion 
on the Senatorial recruit. His politics are nursed 
and nourished; tonics are administered, and 
surgery resorted to if necessary, so that he may 
grow up a healthy party man. 

Sometimes the new Senator is wealthy, and there 
is a Bud on the family tree. Washington is a 

184 



THE FLORAL OFFENSIVE 

veritable garden of such trees, and the Buds are 
often very sweet. Some years the crop is prolific 
and competition very keen. 

Dear, no! I don't suggest anything unmaidenly 
or forward! And as for matchmaking — why, it is 
unthinkable! But a new man must be trained 
politically, socially, and domestically. Back in 
his home state, his horticultural training may or 
may not have included human buds. 

In Washington, with gilded clippers in hand, he 
is led down aisles of American Beauties and urged 
to take his choice. Yet so often he seems impervi- 
ous. There is no limit to the armaments used in 
this floral offensive, or the Battle of the Buds. 
But some of the Washington Senatorial bachelors 
have anti-matrimonial guns which have defied 
capture. Look at Senators Hale and Brandegee, 
Walsh of Massachusetts, and David Elkins! Boies 
Penrose resisted to the last, but Senator Edge 
has recently capitulated. 

Few unattached men have been conspicuous in 
official positions in Washington, but like unat- 
tached men elsewhere — I mean unattached men 
of mature age and certain finances — they are 
objects of great interest to the discreetly hopeful 
widow. Nor are they overlooked by the unappro- 

185 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

priated blessings, that vast army of spinsters 
which forms a generous share of Washington 
society. 

The Speaker of the House, Fred Gillett of Massa- 
chusetts, was for many years the hope and despair 
of Washington women. Though he is seventy- 
two, he didn't surrender to the long siege until a 
short time ago. 

Senator Hale of Maine, whose father did the 
spade work for him in Senate, didn't set the hearts 
aflutter. He has never made a great sensation 
among women. 

David Walsh of Massachusetts is an interesting 
bachelor, but not much given to following the 
giddy social round. He has settled into his stride, 
and goes steadily along. But I did hear that he 
had an eye on a wealthy widow. 

Frank Brandegee of Connecticut isn't showing 
any symptoms of changing his estate, but he has 
strong domestic tendencies, and for years has 
maintained a spacious house and extensive mdnage 
on K Street. 

Then there are widowers. Are they also imper- 
vious to attack? What of Senator McNary of 
Oregon, Tom Walsh of Montana, with his walrus 
mustache, and Trammell of Florida? 

186 



THE FLORAL OFFENSIVE 

Tom Hefflin of Alabama, who has been a widower 
for several years, certainly has the gift of speech 
where pretty women are concerned. But he is an 
adept at negotiating the shallows of Washington 
society, and has never found himself stranded. 

Justice James Clark McReynolds continues 
his state of single blessedness, but Fm afraid he is 
given to periods, brief periods, of great devotion. 

And every season the little Buds blossom — the 
tall ones and the short ones, the plump ones and 
the lean ones, the shy ones and the gay ones, the ones 
with bobbed hair and the ones with swathed locks, 
the ones with neat ankles and others beef to the 
heel, dark and blonde, quick and slow, rich and 
poor, stupid and accomplished, progressive and 
conservative — ^why, men alive, what are you think- 
ing about? Have you ever passed them in review, 
these American Beauties in the Garden of Wash- 
ington society? 

AiLSA Mellon 
There is even one, and a gilt-edged one, who is a 
Cabinet hostess! Ailsa Mellon came from Pitts- 
burgh to preside over the household of the Secre- 
tary of the Treasury. And she manages very well. 
The Secretary's wife, you know, was Nora McMul- 

187 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Ian, a beautiful Irish girl from Dublin, but the 
wedge of divorce has separated them. So her 
daughter takes her place. Beaux? Well, I should 
say so. Youth, charm, wealth, Ailsa Mellon wears 
her triple crown easily. But she is a shrewd little 
lady, is Ailsa, and she is winnowing the chaff from 
the oats. There is much speculation as to which 
way the wind blows, but it is too early yet to 
prophesy. 

However, Buds will be buds. What about the 
half-blown and full-blooming blossoms? What 
about them, indeed! So many spend their time 
playing bridge and trying to keep thin. Well, 
not exactly thin, but they hate to admit that the 
"stylish stout" period has arrived. Still the 
social and matrimonial offensive goes on. 

Oh, please don't misunderstand me! I don't 
suggest that all women are hunting and all men 
the hunted. But you know, dear, there are thou- 
sands more women than men in Washington, and 
this disproportion always has a definite result. 
And when there are nearly five hundred men — 
not all eligible, of course, but quite a few — and all 
the officials, in and out of uniform, why, naturally 
Washington is a little different. And you must 
make hay while the sun is shining. 

188 




Harris dfc Euing 



MISS AILSA MELLON 



THE FLORAL OFFENSIVE 

Now that Dr. Royal Copeland has come down 
from New York, he may reconstruct social Wash- 
ington on scientific lines. I already see signs of it. 
Quite recently he suggested that restaurants should 
prepare special menus to assist people in their 
choice of food, and instruct the lean how to get 
fat and the fat how to reduce weight. We care- 
lessly speak of calories, but they mean heat, not 
necessarily fat. 

Under the Copeland plan, I suppose items 
printed in red would mean that they were loaded 
with fats; red light, beware! The red type would 
warn the diner of dangers ahead. Dishes displayed 
in green would probably give a clear track to the 
hungry guest. Nothing to fear on this line. 
Yellow might be employed to attract the lean, 
displaying a golden hope that crevasses might be 
filled, and wrinkles ironed out by indulgence in 
the course suggested. 

I think that's a beautiful idea; so helpful. The 
haunting dread of weight hangs like a pall over 
many a bridge luncheon. It is a theme to discuss 
— ^while you eat. Perhaps the Coud system may 
be found effective, and a daily repetition of " Every 
day in every part, I am getting thinner and thin- 
ner," will overcome this menace of the flesh. 

191 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

It would be helpful, too, in the choosing of 
dinner guests. Under Dr. Copeland's plan the 
White House system of invitations would be 
remodeled, and precedence go by the board. 
Instead of entertaining all the diplomats at one 
dinner, and all the judges at another, and Congress 
at a third, they would be graded according to 
weight. Those turning the scales over two 
hundred and fifty pounds would be bidden to a 
dinner of the green-tjrpe menu. Safety first. 

The lean officials, or those under a hundred and 
fifty pounds, would be served at a dinner of yellow- 
type courses, and so on. Think of the possibilities 
this opens up! 

I remember a Judiciary dinner at the White 
House, before the days of prohibition. I was 
handed over to an octogenarian judge, with a bald 
head and dyspepsia. 

He ate nothing, but nibbled crackers, and all my 
efforts to start something conversationally fell flat. 
Then the wine was passed, and passed again. The 
judge drank his own and mine, and before the 
dessert he was asking me to call him by his front 
name. 

In these days it would be hard to find a niche 
into which to fit this guest — at a White House 

192 



THE FLORAL OFFENSIVE 

dinner. But under the Copeland plan, he might 
successfully head the list of guests, and be enor- 
mously popular. That type of guest could make a 
hearty dinner of two crackers and an olive. 

There is, however, another way of avoiding 
superfluous weight, yet not denying your appetite. 
A Washington doctor, a stomach specialist, told 
me that he has men and women who come to him 
after the banquet — to remove the banquet. 

I think most people would refer Coue to the 
stomach pump. You've heard of ''taking supper 
out", but this seems a new interpretation of the 
old phrase. 



13 



193 



CALLING DAYS IN THE CAPITAL 

EACH official group in Washington has its 
day for receiving. On Monday you may 
call on the Judiciary. There aren't many 
judges, so that is a slack day. 

Tuesday is a very busy day, as the wives of the 
Representatives are receiving, singly or in groups. 

Wednesday is Cabinet day, numerically small, 
but very important. 

On Thursday the ladies of the Senate are at 
home, while Friday is reserved for the diplomatic 
corps. 

Social Washington has a day off on Saturday, 
and may round up the Cave Dwellers, have a 
shampoo, and give a party on the quiet. 

The hours of calling are usually from four to six, 
and sometimes seven. I went to a Senator's house 
one day, and arrived a few minutes of four. I 
pushed the button, and a liveried person opened 
the door. 

''Madame does not receive until four o'clock," 
he said firmly, and closed the door in my face. 

Upon Capitol Hill, where so many of the Con- 

194 



CALLING DAYS IN THE CAPITAL 

gress wives live, Tuesday is as busy as washing 
day used to be in the days of our great-grand- 
mothers. As one woman said, "On Tuesday I feel 
like the trashman, going from door to door." You 
see, there are about four hundred Congressmen. 

In some apartments they receive in groups. 
When you go in the door, you see a row of baskets, 
each with a name tied to it. You need a regular 
deck of cards when you start out on this round. 

I have seen many women drop a card into each 
basket, without looking at the names. You might 
say, calling in bulk. 

Others are much more discriminating. They 
will read the name, drop a card; read the next, 
drop a card, read the next — "Mrs. Blank; I despise 
the woman, I won't call on her," and that basket 
is skipped. 

Then you face the line, and shake hands, hand 
after hand, the number equivalent to the baskets. 
Even if you haven't left a card, you may have to 
shake the hand of Mrs. Blank. 

This is an official party; social, yes, but iron- 
clad. If you think you can ignore it, well, just 
try, and see where you will find yourself. To 
call it a duty is right, because I don't believe many 
find a great pleasure in it. But there you are! 

195 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

I remember calling on the Cabinet wives one 
day. 

"This is your first reception of the season, isn't 
it? " I said to one hostess. 

*'0h, no!" she corrected, standing firmly on her 
two flat feet. "We were at home on New Year's 
Day, and did good business, too," she added 
proudly. 

In the matter of precedence, there is that one 
unsettled point, and that is the ranking of the 
Cabinet and Senate. The Senate claims that as 
it has to confirm the Cabinet officer's appointment, 
it has prior right. Cabinet, or at least six of its 
members, are eligible for the position of President, 
in the event of death or disablement of the head 
of the nation, and so they feel superior. 

Socially a compromise has been effected. The 
Cabinet wives call first on the ladies of the Senate 
— an admission of lower rank — but at dinners the 
Senators take a lower seat. 

Mrs. Burleson, when her husband was Post- 
master General under President Wilson, tried to 
recast the social mold. She suggested that Cabi- 
net wives should not return the calls of Representa- 
tives, nor should they bow the knee to the Senate 
by paying the initial visit. 

196 



CALLING DAYS IN THE CAPITAL 

As Mrs. Burleson had previously been the wife 
of a Representative before acquiring Cabinet rank, 
the proposition was not — er — well received. 

The social formalities of Washington are a 
tangled web to enmesh the feet of the newly elect. 
So many trip; others merely stumble; some crash 
through, but few newcomers escape without a 
pitiful bruising. 

Changes come with changing conditions, but the 
years have now evolved a definite social system, 
of which the Social Secretary in the State Depart- 
ment is the custodian. 

As each President comes to the White House, 
small changes are made in keeping with his per- 
sonal tastes. If he shuns society, as did President 
Wilson, added barriers are erected. If he is a 
genial, sociable person, like President Harding, the 
gates are thrown open wide. But no matter whose 
administration, it is to the Social Secretary you 
apply when in doubt about the seating of your 
guests or the issuance of invitations. Mixing 
your guests is as dangerous as mixing your 
drinks. 

I remember a dinner at Chevy Chase one night, 
quite an informal affair. Mrs. Sharp, wife of the 
ex-Ambassador to France, had arrived in town 

197 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

unexpectedly that day, and had been added to the 
list at the last moment. 

There was half an hour's delay, during which 
everyone tried to smile and not look curious. 
Eventually we were all seated, and dinner pro- 
ceeded peacefully. 

A week later I heard that the hostess, in a 
moment of doubt, had called up the State Depart- 
ment to know whether the wife of an ex- Ambassa- 
dor should take precedence over a lady of the 
Senate. 

But to return to the problem of calling. Some 
people regard these official calls as the discharge 
of a social obligation, but many treat it as a free 
entertainment, a circus in fact. 

Sometimes crowds come, the idly curious who 
like to talk familiarly about official homes, as if 
they were on intimate terms. Whole boarding 
schools are marshaled in now and again, as a sort 
of educational stunt, particularly to the embassies 
and legations. It is a sort of cheap foreign tour. 

I was pouring tea at a house one day, when a 
group of eight women who had come from a little 
town in Pennsylvania arrived. For months they 
had planned a visit to Washington, so they told 
me, and decided to make it a Wednesday, in order 

198 



CALLING DAYS IN THE CAPITAL 

to do the Cabinet rounds. They were so enthusi- 
astic about everything, so candid, so frank in their 
comments and admiration, that one instantly for- 
gave their appalling curiosity. 

I listened to them. 

"Do you think it's an original? I don't." And 
the two inspected a picture. 

"Antique! Indeed it isn't, but it is a good 
copy," came after inspection of the legs of a table. 

"I paid thirty dollars for a pair just like that." 

They walked round, lifted the books, felt the 
curtains, inspected the furniture, and took a 
thoroughly healthy interest in the decorative 
scheme of their hostess. 

Occasionally new members of the Congressional 
set are not quite sure of themselves. Their social 
experience at home has been limited, their circle 
very narrow and a trifle rough-hewn. Conscious- 
ness of this does not lend ease. Then they may 
be induced to buy a book on etiquette. This 
invariably breeds panic. They read in large tjrpe: 
"Do you wish to be a social outcast? Then 
dare to take a drink of any beverage without 
first touching your lips with your napkin. " But 
that is nothing to the condemnation of the "watch- 
ful waiters" who don't know which implement to 

199 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

use — the short, fat fork or the long, thin one, and 
who delay starting their meal in the hope that they 
may see what others do. Everyone knows why 
you are waiting, and you are instantly socially 
damned. 

Oh, theyVe horrible books, and inflict dreadful 
torture on the newcomer who resorts to them. 
Their advertisements are frank intimidation. 

One recent arrival had read that white kid 
gloves should be worn in the evening. She wore 
them religiously, and seemed to spend her evenings 
hauling them on and off — long yards of them — 
because the book on etiquette told her that it was 
wrong to tuck the fingers in at the wrist. Her 
hands were large and awkward, and they stuck 
out like a policeman's. 

At last a friend dropped her a hint that these 
white-clad paws were a little obtrusive and she 
needn't wear her gloves all the time. 

"Well, the etiquette book says you should!" 
and she stuck to them. 

Many suffer from a dearth of conversational 
small talk, the verbal stuff that fits into afternoon 
teas or dinner intervals. By the way, I notice 
that an English woman doctor has stated recently 
that indulgence in social conversation impedes 

200 



CALLING DAYS IN THE CAPITAL 

mental development. She says, " The short, bril- 
liant flashes lead nowhere, and exhaust the men- 
tality." Brilliant, yes, perhaps. 

Finding a safe subject of mutual interest is not 
easy, when the new Representative's wife has come 
from a small town of limited horizon. 

Do you remember Dr. Gardner, who used to 
bob up year after year, asking Congress for an 
appropriation to study the language of the chim- 
panzee in Africa? I believe he built himself a 
steel cage, and lived in the jungle for months, 
conversing with some remote cousins of ours. He 
was well known at the time, and I felt on safe 
ground when I asked one member of congressional 
circles what she thought of giving him the money 
to study the language of the chimpanzee. 

"I don't think many of these people come to 
our country, and I don't see why we should bother 
about their language," was her naive reply. 



201 



SUPREME COURT WIVES 

Mrs. William Howard Taft 

SO many have come from Main Street, but not 
Mrs. William Howard Taft. The dust of 
Cincinnati's Main Street had been left behind 
at the mud-pie age, and before she was out of her 
teens she had learned the ways of social Washing- 
ton, with its barbed-wire enclosures and red-tape 
entanglements. 

She didn't climb the wire fence, but as a White 
House guest during the Hayes administration she 
walked in the front door. She was Helen Herron 
then, and her father was the law partner of Ruther- 
ford B. Hayes. Law ran in both families. 

Supreme Court Judge at thirty! That's what 
happened to Taft, and his wife didn't like it. 
Of course, she was immensely proud, but she 
seemed afraid that contact with older men and the 
serious side of life would rob him of his youthful 
buoyancy. If you could hear him laugh to-day, 
you would realize that it had been a false alarm. 
Now, if it had been the loss of his figure, instead 
of his youth, about which she was concerned ! 

202 




HarriaA Swing 



MRS. WILLIAM HOWARD TAFT 



SUPREME COURT WIVES 

When the Tafts were sent to the PhiHppines to 
start a civil government, there were three Hvely 
youngsters among the baggage on that trip. But 
it was a great experience. 

Funny, isn't it, when you look back and see how 
things have worked out! I always think that if 
Mr. Taft had taken counsel with his wife more 
frequently after his installation at the White 
House, matters might have been different. They 
couldn't pull the wool over Mrs. Taft's eyes, and 
there is little doubt that she saw the shadow of 
coming events long before her husband. Even 
now, there is a kind of Igorot head-hunterish look 
in her eyes when some one refers to the dark days 
of 1912. 

Mrs. Taft had planned such a wonderful social 
season, but, of course, much of it was canceled. 

After her husband's election to the White House, 
she seemed to retire from politics, and was sub- 
merged in furbishing and furnishing the White 
House. I have an idea that the contents of the 
attic were greatly increased after her advent. 

What! Haven't you heard of the famous attic? 
My dears, it's a perfect treasure house of antiques. 
Old four-posters that would make your mouth 
water, and rare pieces discarded by the new- 

205 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

coming Presidents to make way for modern 
designs. 

Let me see. I think it is Hiram Johnson, 
Senator from CaHfornia, who has bought that 
dehghtful old manor house outside the District 
boundary. It was in a shocking state of repair, 
and he began to reinstate its ancient dignity. But 
one old fireplace was missing, and a ghastly modern 
misfit shrieked its incongruity to high heaven. It 
was a long search, then one day, an old gardener, 
or janitor, or something about the Capitol, by 
chance, hearing of the Senator's dilemma, offered 
an old fireplace that had long ago been discarded 
from the White House as junk. I assure you, 
it is a veritable treasure. 

Nothing in all the political game is going to be 
so hard for women as learning to forgive political 
enemies, which simply has to be done if one is to 
be a successful politician. Fm afraid most women 
begin to forgive only when an enemy is dead — 
very dead. Ask Mrs. Taft! After the Taft 
defeat, things were different. Mrs. Taft, I may 
tell you, never returned to the familiar "Will — 
Theodore" status with their one-time friend. 

Mrs. Taft's outstanding personal accomplish- 
ment is her gift for music. I believe that Victor 

206 



SUPREME COURT WIVES 

Berger came very near apostasy in regard to the 
Socialist party, because of the lure of this music, 
which accompanied the gracious hospitality of the 
White House. 

Long after Mrs. Taft's music is silenced, and the 
keys of her beloved piano are mute, the cherry 
blossoms on the Speedway will keep fragrant her 
memory. The trees were a gift from Japan during 
the Taft regime, and the planting of them in alter- 
nate odd and even groups was made at the sugges- 
tion of the Japanese Government, so that the mes- 
sage of felicitation and greeting accompanying the 
trees should be spelled out symbolically. 

Whatever that message may be, these gay, pink 
blossoms turn the Speedway into a paradise, and 
the April breeze flings their petals like confetti on 
those who pass that way. 

Mrs. Oliver Wendell Holmes 
Under the roof of Justice Holmes abides Boston's 
best traditions, with culture miles deep and literary 
atmosphere and all the surroundings that make a 
highbrow feel at home. Mrs. Holmes is an intel- 
lectual woman, and absolutely without personal 
vanity. No woman with a sparfc of it would do 
her hair in the Holmes way— a little knob screwed 

207 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

up at the back of one of the best brains in Wash- 
ington. 

Mrs. Louis Brandeis 

Mrs. Louis Brandeis is easily one of the most 
outstanding ladies of the Supreme Court group. 
She is handsome, with great, dark eyes, good com- 
plexion, and snow-white hair. And she carries 
herself well. Why shouldn't she? Isn't she one 
of THE Goldmarks of New York, the family that 
has given Pauline and Joseph Goldmark to the 
world, besides Mrs. Brandeis. Hers is a justifiable 
pride. 

I think Mrs. Brandeis is the only Boston woman 
of distinction who didn't belong to the Women's 
Educational and Industrial Union. But she was 
active in suffrage work. She had daughters, and 
she concluded that they would find citizenship 
awaiting them on their majority. 

Running true to tradition, Susan Brandeis 
worked for suffrage after she graduated, and she 
is now practicing law in New York. You know 
Elizabeth is executive secretary of the Minimum 
Wage Commission of the District of Columbia. 
When the Minimum Wage law in the District was 
declared unconstitutional by a local court, it went 
to the Supreme Court. There was keen specula- 

208 



SUPREME COURT WIVES 

tion as to what Judge Brandeis would do and how 
he would vote. But he declined to sit. He had 
previously argued a similar case, and his sym- 
pathies were well known. He calls it a matter of 
ethics. But I think the labor people say it was 
mere etiquette. 

The Brandeis home is not the storm center of the 
socially elect. If you want your Washington all 
jazzed up, you don't go there. It is the socially 
minded people — men and women who care how the 
other half live, and why they don't live longer and 
more happily — these are the people you meet at 
the Brandeis home. They are interesting men and 
women, and when they speak you may not agree 
with them, but their remarks are well worth 
listening to. 

Lion-hunting isn't a Brandeis pastime, but the 
really big game generally get around to their 
preserve sooner or later. Of course you find 
people who try to sneak up in the night and hang 
a red flag over the door. Cochineal isn't made 
in the cellar. The reddest thing in the Brandeis 
household is the warm glow of human sympathy 
and understanding. 

Ladies of the fluffy ruffles, lounge lizards, and 
all the vapid, brainless excitement chasers, go 

14 209 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

round the block. But if you realize life in its best, 
broadest sense, just go in; the prospect is fine. 

Mrs. George Sutherland 
The Sutherlands come from Utah! Yes, but 
they are Gentiles. That is the first question asked 
about the newly arrived from Utah. After Senator 
Sutherland retired from the Senate, the family left 
Washington. It has grown to be a big city since 
then, and the War has made many changes. 
Supreme Court Justice is a life job, and I think the 
Sutherlands are preparing to dig themselves in 
very comfortably, and make their presence felt in 
society. 

Just as a sort of model for people who think that 
nobody gets married for keeps any more, the Suth- 
erland j serve a good purpose in Washington. 
They are a sort of working model of domesticity! 
Wliy not put them in the National Museum, and 
mark them "Exhibit A"? Some day we shall find 
such people on exhibition, to be seen " at per head ". 
Whenever Mrs. Sutherland entertains, even at 
informal teas. Justice Sutherland manages to get 
there, and his manner to her, the way she looks at 
him — oh, well, of course it makes some of the rest 
a bit envious, but it is mighty good to see. 

210 



WIVES OF SENATE LAME DUCKS 

THERE is nothing in the Constitution about 
providing crutches for lame ducks, but you 
might as well try to alter the Constitution 
itself as try to depart from established precedent 
in this regard. 

After defeat, they limp around Washington, and 
put on full pressure when there is a vacant post — 
particularly an ornamental, remunerative one. 

We see the Poindexters limping off to the 
diplomatic paradise of Peru, and a Postmaster 
Generalship is the splint applied to New. 

Mrs Truman Newberry 
The Newberrys had a rather disastrous reign, 
although the President had set the pace, and 
allowed it to be known that entertaining the New- 
berrys would be considered a friendly act. 

The inquiry is still fresh in mind, I know. I 
remember one function at the Congressional Club, 
before the final vote was taken. The wife of 
another Republican Senator greeted Mrs. New- 
berry with the gracious, meaningless phrase, "I 

am so glad to see you." 

211 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

"Do you really mean that?" asked Mrs. 
Newberry. 

"Why, of course I do," stammered the first 
speaker, coloring furiously and feeling most un- 
comfortable. 

"Then why don't you make your husband stop 
persecuting mine?" retorted Mrs. Newberry hotly. 

President Harding had too many wounded 
Republicans to look after to have opportunity to 
provide supports for defeated Democrats. 

Mrs. Atlee Pomerene 

Atlee Pomerene could scarcely look for a soft 
seat. The women say that he got what was com- 
ing to him. He said the women of Ohio didn't 
want the vote. Well, he knows now. 

Like Philip Pitt Campbell, he has delusions of 
greatness, and has convinced his family of it, if 
no one else. Mrs. Pomerene is a fine woman. 
She told a friend that defeat was a bolt out of a 
clear sky. The Friday night before the election 
Senator Pomerene told some of his political friends 
that he might as well go back to Washington; it 
was all over but the shouting. If he had got back, 
I think his eyes would have turned toward a 
Democratic presidential nomination next year. 

212 




Harris & Ewing 



MRS. JOSEPH FRELINGHUYSEN 



WIVES OF SENATE LAME DUCKS 

Mrs. Joseph Sherman Frelinghuysen 

4 

Now, Frelinghuysen is a very rich man. He 
has a home in Washington, a residence in New 
Jersey, and another at Palm Beach. I believe he 
has three of the six best cellars in the United States. 
It is said that those cellars brought about his 
defeat, in spite of the fact that he is the fifth 
Frelinghuysen to sit in the United States Senate, 
which is almost enough to establish a dynasty. 
Certainly, it would be expected to hold a mere 
tradition level. 

Tradition had a good deal to do with keeping 
the veteran, Lodge, from joining the ranks of the 
Lame Ducks. As one woman put it: ''He is the 
last leaf on the tree of the Old Families tradition, 
which has always ruled Boston. I'll admit he 
never stood for a moral issue in his life, but he is a 
Cabot: he is one of US." 

All told, I believe the Frelinghuysens are the 
handsomest couple of the Congressional circle. 
He is big and rather blustering, but socially he is 
quite all right, and never steps on his partner's 
feet. Mrs. Frelinghuysen is of the willowy type, 
who can wear anything and make it look like an 
exclusive model, something specially designed for 
her and the pattern destroyed. 

215 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Mrs. Ira Clifton Copley 

I often think that Mrs. Frelinghuysen and Mrs. 
Copley would have made excellent diplomats. 
Not the island of Yap for them, but a big post. 
Some day we shall see this strange apparition, the 
wife of a Lame Duck receiving a diplomatic splint 
on her own account, not his. 

Both of these women have assured social posi- 
tions. Even Washington's most sacred Rose 
Chapter of the Inner Circle, that wouldn't open 
the door if it saw Mrs. Harding on the mat in the 
rain, holds out both arms to these two women, 
and takes them right into the sanctum. 

"You know Mrs. Copley knows all the parlor 
tricks," said one of her admirers, "without having 
to sit up nights to study them." She was bom 
that way. If the person who dictates table man- 
ners should invent a two-edged knife or a flat 
spoon, she would know instinctively what to do 
with it. 

That's quite true. They would remind us of a 

lot of diplomats we've seen abroad; they are so 

different. 

Mrs. Harry New 

Everyone took it for granted that the News 
would be taken care of. They were Mayflower 

216 




Harris (& Eunn / 



MRS. WILLIAM CALDER 



WIVES OF SENATE LAME DUCKS 

friends of the Hardings. One summer I remember 
Mrs. New and Mrs. Gillett, and I think Mrs. 
Frehnghuysen, assisting on one of the Mayflower 
cruises. We didn't know whether to wear after- 
noon clothes or sport suits or just summer after- 
noon frocks. Afternoon dress won, and those who 
had made that choice were in luck. I believe 
that was the time Mrs. Nicholas Longworth came 
in an organdy that looked as if it had just come 
from the "Treat-Em-Rough Dry Laundry." 
New is now chief stamp licker of the nation. 

Mrs. William Calder 

Senator Calder is an obliging man. Mrs. Calder 
is rather striking looking, with a mass of snowy 
white hair. I don't know whether she married 
the Senator for his fetching ways or because he 
lived in Brooklyn. 

I once heard a woman say of Mrs. Calder, 
"She's not coarse, oh, no, but she's the sort of 
woman who would keep a parrot." I don't know 
that she does, but, anyhow, she married Mr. 
Calder. But life in Washington was sweet to 
them, and it does seem a pity to send her back 
to Brooklyn — back to Brooklyn, not that, cruel 
fate! 

219 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Hitchcock was a popular man. There was an 
extreme courthness of manner suggestive of lace 
ruffles and velvet coats. He was bom too late. 
It was quite a change in that assembly which 
"day by day, in every way, is getting rougher 
and rougher." 

"We tried to remind him that one day we would 
be asking Nebraska women to vote for him," 
said one ardent advocate of suffrage. "We told 
him that his election might be of the utmost 
importance to the party, even if it meant nothing 
to him, but he wouldn't listen to reason. He said 
that it was a matter of principle and he couldn't 
yield for mere political reasons." 

They might have forgiven him for being Wet, 
but to be opposed to both the Eighteenth and 
Nineteenth Amendments! That was too big a 
handicap. 



220 



THE SOCIAL LOBBY 

THERE is nothing more symbolic of Wash- 
ington society than the plan of Washington 
streets. When Charles L'Enfant laid out 
the city on paper, with its streets straight and 
diagonal, with triangles and circles, it is clear he 
had in mind a prophetic vision of the social system 
that was to develop, with its rings and circles and 
angles, short cuts to greatness if you know the 
way, and divergences that leave you on the rim 
of outer darkness if you miss the path. 

When a train pushes its nose into the Union 
Station at Washington and unloads a new Repre- 
sentative and his wife, the man may stand looking 
around at the dome of the Capitol, the scene of 
his future triumphs. His chest may heave with 
mighty aspirations; he may be almost ashamed to 
admit even to himseK the height of his political 
ambition. 

But what of his wife? She may be a gentle 
soul from the sunny South; a busy woman from 
the North; a rugged gem from the West, or a 
sophisticated society dame from a great city. 
But think of the social ordeal that faces her! 

221 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

In the little Main Street town, there is great 
excitement over the honor conferred on the newly- 
elected Representative. His family and friends 
think he has achieved the highest position — ^next 
to the President. His wife has visions of being a 
front-ranker in society, and there is much prepara- 
tion for the invasion of the Capital. 

Being one of four hundred, and a lesser one, as 
precedence goes by length of service, she doesn't 
make a big splurge. Her first job is to make her 
calls — hundreds of them. If she doesn't, she will 
be left alone, and lonely, in total obscurity. She 
is on the outer rim, and must learn the way in. 
How to get from one social circle to another, with- 
out once stepping outside the prescribed — or if 
you prefer it, proscribed — lines, is the national 
game of hopscotch. 

When you read about being in the "social whirl 
with a Congressman's wife", or "society as seen 
by Senators", it has an air of intoxication, glamor, 
thrill. 

To entertain the visitor from the home state is 
one of the privileges of a Representative or a Sen- 
ator. You always try to do it well. One satisfied 
elector, a little flattered, can do a lot when he 
goes back home. 

222 



THE SOCIAL LOBBY 

Early in the War, the wife of a Senator from the 
Middle West planned a dinner for two house 
guests, electors from the home state. Influential 
electors, too, they were, and she wanted to show 
them a real party. 

Hoping to be impressive, she wished to include 
as many high-ranked guests as possible, and she 
reached to the limit. But as she realized that it 
would be impolitic to invite both the French and 
German Ambassadors to the same meal, the invi- 
tation was sent to M. Jusserand. 

The French reply expressed regret and inability 
to come, and so cleared the way for an invitation 
to the German Embassy, from which came an 
acceptance. A great deal underlay invitations 
and acceptances in those tense days. 

Great preparations were made. The Middle 
Western friend had decked herself out like the 
Queen of Sheba, and her husband was in martyred 
semblance of correct Fifth Avenue style. 

The door bell rang, and the guests began to 
arrive. Imagine the horror of the hostess, when 
among the first to arrive were Monsieur and Ma- 
dame Jusserand. Some secretary had blundered. 

This meant two guests too many. The bewil- 
dered hostess not only had secretly to murder two 

223 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

guests, but also to keep representatives of countries 
then at war from stabbing each other with a salad 
fork or damaging the cutlery. 

At length, surreptitiously, the butler carried 
two trays upstairs, and the house guests — a tearful 
Queen of Sheba and her spouse — for whom the 
party really was given, were the sacrificial victims. 
It was impossible to deny a seat to any of the 
high officials invited, and there wasn't an inch 
of additional room at the table. So there was no 
alternative. 

What the real honor guests got of that party 
came up on a tray, was seen through the decora- 
tions, or heard over the banisters. But they 
didn't tell that when they got back home. No, 
indeed ! 

Most women have a mental picture of "the 
Busy Senator's Wife" that they get from the 
Sunday paper or a magazine. They visualize her 
breakfasting in her boudoir. They never think 
that she might be cooking breakfast in the bath- 
room. They see the endless chain of invitations 
tying her to the social flywheel, which spins day 
and night, incessantly, absorbingly, until pleasure 
is her paramount duty and parties her daily task. 

By noon they seem to see the pile of letters 

224 



THE SOCIAL LOBBY 

beseeching her presence here, her wit there, her 
incomparable social graces elsewhere, cleared from 
her desk. Then flinging aside her silk negligee, 
she leaps into her luncheon frock. She is the guest 
or bait to hook elusive celebrities. She smiles and 
eats and listens her way through salads and ice 
cream, her beauty banked by out-of-season roses. 
(You always use flowers out of season. They are 
not more effective, but more expensive.) If to 
make it "beauty" is too severe a strain, her 
intellectual face, or the regal pose of her head are 
alternative compliments applied. 

She is torn from lunch, to be whirled down the 
tree-bordered avenue, home. She sheds her 
luncheon gown and dives into one more suited for 
three teas and a reception — her afternoon's pro- 
gram—where she MUST put in an appearance or 
the parties will fall flat. 

By 6.30 she is home again and, stepping out of 
her afternoon frock, she slips on two shoulder 
straps and some beaded net and faces a blizzard. 
The dinner is in her honor. A little talk will be 
expected; after that the theater, supper, and 
perhaps a dance. 

It is quite a thrilling picture. 

And away out West and up North and down 

225 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

South, in the mountains and across the prairies, 
women in their simple small-town homes read of it 
with envy in their faded eyes — eyes that have 
never seen the Capital, the out-of-season roses, the 
lightning change from party frocks, and know not 
the intoxication of such social triumphs. 

But don't you believe it! There is a leaven of 
party in the political dough, but often the party 
becomes the dough, and a little peace the leaven. 
Few real women could long endure the inanities of 
that pictured existence. The job of being a wife, 
a mother, a housekeeper, and a human being 
generally is fitted in between these multifarious 
duties. 

You who live at home, wash off the slate that 
picture of a busy Senator's wife or Congressman's 
spouse. Just remember that she is a mighty busy 
woman if she is doing her job properly; that some 
of the parties are a penance, and that all roses 
don't grow on trees. 

There are some places into which the newly 
arrived wife automatically fits. But there are 
others for which she must qualify. And these 
qualifications differ. Money, influence, power, 
social gifts — a pull somewhere. 

Did you know that Senator Capper was learning 

226 



THE SOCIAL LOBBY 

to dance? Yes, he is. He owns a string of papers, 
and has the Farm Bloc in leash, but he doesn't 
dress the part. 

If you want to know how the social lobby really 
works, watch the social columns of the Washington 

papers. 

Mrs. John B. Henderson 

Mrs. John B. Henderson wined and dined enough 
Congress members to get Sixteenth Street renamed 
''The Avenue of Presidents". She owns many 
mansions on this street, and Henderson's castle 
stands out somber, distinctive, and inappropriate 
in such an American environment. Many of the 
foreign embassies have bought these beautiful 
homes which she has built. But, alas! another 
Congress heartlessly changed the name back to 
Sixteenth Street. Perhaps they wanted to be 
asked to dinner also. 

Mrs. Henderson had a wonderful cellar, and an 
even more wonderful butler, who, when he was 
sober, buttled as if he had come straight from 
Buckingham Palace. Billy Sunday or William 
Jennings Bryan or the Salvation Army converted 
him, and then appealed to Mrs. Henderson to save 
the ransomed sinner from future temptation. She 
did, and she did it spectacularly. Barrels, bottles, 

227 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

kegs, flasks, and flagons were emptied into the 
gutter, and the Avenue of Presidents, aHas Six- 
teenth Street, ran with the juice of the grape and 
the corn, and rye, and juniper. It was picturesque! 

Oh, yes, she still wields her influence in the 
social lobby, but then, you see, we have the 
Eighteenth Amendment. 

When you see a sudden political voUe-face 
and wonder why, what oratory, what reasons, 
what argument has induced it, just turn up the 
recent files and read the social columns. You will 
probably find the solution there. Who has been 
dining that Senator, and what do they want? 
Try it! 



228 



DINNER DELAYS 

IN Washington, as elsewhere, you are expected 
to be present at the dinner before the guest of 
honor arrives. If the latter really is consider- 
ate, he or she comes a few minutes late, in order 
to leave a margin in case a stud has rolled under 
the bed or the laundry hasn't come. 

I know one wealthy man whose life was made 
miserable for want of a ten-cent button hook. No 
matter how many he bought, he could never find 
one when he wanted it. 

"The damn things evaporate!" he would roar, 
as he stamped round the apartment. "I left one 
here, I know I did.'' 

One day his wife offered him the little silver 
hook out of her dressing case. With his two 
hundred pounds fired by fury behind the wrench 
he gave it, the button hook doubled up like a bent 
pin. He said — But never mind what he said; you 
can imagine it. 

Now he buys them by the gross from the ten- 
cent store, and has them hanging in rows in every 
room. 

229 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

These are the sort of unavoidable delays which 
so often hold up a party. 

Tradition hands down a story of George Wash- 
ington. A guest arrived late for dinner, and the 
meal was already proceeding. He was profuse in 
his apology. George Washington smiled. "We 
have a cook," he said, "who does not ask if the 
guest has arrived, but if the hour has arrived." 

You generally have to stand around during the 
interval between arrival and the announcement 
that dinner is served. 

When William Jennings Bryan was Secretary of 
State, he gave an elaborate party one night. As 
nearly a hundred guests were expected, the chairs 
had given place to space. There wasn't a thing 
to sit on. Half an hour passed, and then nearly 
an hour, but still we stood and waited. Whispered 
messages were transmitted from the butler to Mr. 
Bryan and the hostess endeavored to keep the 
hungry guests from eating the decorations. 

I noticed one little woman who looked so miser- 
able. She wore inordinately high-heeled shoes, 
two sizes too small, and the torture she was endur- 
ing was written on her sad, powdered face. 

At last, a flushed and influential Senator and his 
meek wife were hurried in. He had been located 

230 



DINNER DELAYS 

with difficulty, and a tuxedo forced on him over 
his day-before-yesterday shirt and tweed trousers. 
That was all the toilet his humor would permit. 

Now the Bryans were genuine pre-prohibition 
prohibitionists and at that dinner nonintoxicating 
grape juice was served. As this beverage failed 
to generate a back-spin, and his previous potations 
had subsided, this lately arrived guest discoursed 
loudly on the dangers of plain grape juice, and how 
it corroded the stomach. 

As the corrosive effect of the juice affected his 
humor, his voice grew louder and his tone more 
offensive. Mr. Bryan, however, calmly covered 
this breach with a blanket of courtesy, and the 
little woman, taking advantage of the diversion, 
surreptitiously slipped off her tight shoes under the 
table. 

An amusing incident in which the ex-Secretary 
of State figured, occurred nearly two years ago. 

When M. Briand made his impassioned address 
at the Disarmament Conference, William Jennings 
Bryan sat forward listening, intent, eager. M. 
Briand spoke in French, his gestures supplementing 
his fiery eloquence, as he denounced Germany and 
drew a vivid picture of the menace which faced 
France should she reduce her land armies without 

231 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Allied guarantees of help in time of need. At 
each pause, William Jennings Bryan applauded 
vigorously. 

The eyes of many people were focused on Bryan, 
just as his were glued to M. Briand. His interest 
was so absorbing, his endorsement of every word 
said and policy propounded so obvious, that he 
claimed attention. 

M. Briand concluded his speech and sat down, 
and then the interpreter retold the story in lucid 
English. 

Little by little William Jennings Bryan began to 
realize that he had been applauding everything he 
had previously condemned. As the burden of the 
Frenchman's message became clear, he slipped 
gradually further back in his seat and disappeared 
almost from sight. 

He has now learned that a knowledge of French 
is really essential to the full comprehension of a 
Frenchman's speech. 

By the way, some years ago, I remember, Mr. 
Bryan was down in Tennessee. He had occasion 
to visit an insane asylum, and while there he was 
talking to some of the patients. 

''What are you in here for?" asked one inmate, 
who recognized him. 

232 



DINNER DELAYS 

"Me? Imperialism!" replied Bryan. 
The patient shook his head. "You're not 
mad," he said. "You're just a plain damn fool." 

Mrs. Key Pittman 

Reverting to dinner delays, I recall an incident 
that happened at Senator Key Pittman 's one night. 
It was mid-winter, and there had been a fall of 
snow. The meal had proceeded in orderly measure 
up to a certain point, when it came to a sudden 
halt. Conversation helped out, but the hiatus 
grew and grew until it was half an hour long. 

There was a maddening mystery somewhere. 
The faces of the host and hostess become clouded, 
and the serving men and maids dodged dismally 
hither and thither, trying to keep up an appearance 
of glad activity. 

Suddenly the scene quickened into action as the 
quail made its appearance. You dug with your 
fork, you stabbed with your knife, but you couldn't 
make an impression on that bird. It was frozen 
stiff and stark. The guests tried valiantly to cut 
the carcass, to mutilate it into some semblance 
of a relished meal, but it defied them. So the 
quail was removed, and the next course served 
promptly and in perfect order. 

233 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

I unearthed the mystery of the frozen quail next 
day. You know, caterers cook the food and trans- 
fer it in a steam-heated wagon to the house where 
the party is to be held. Now, the wagon with the 
Key Pittman dinner on board had broken down in 
the snow; then the heat failed, and an urgent call 
was sent out for another wagon. It was dark and 
cold, and a hxirried transference of the food was 
made from one vehicle to another. But it was not 
until time to serve them that the quail were missed. 

Back they went to the place where the exchange 
had been made, and after much searching about 
in the snow, they found the quail, frozen stiff and 
hard. As the guests had waited half an hour for 
the coiu^e, there was nothing to do but rush the 
quail in and make a brave showing. Frozen quail 
might be all very well for Mrs. Key Pittman, 
but 

Do you know the Key Pittman romance? Mrs. 
Key Pittman 's father owned mines in Alaska, and 
it was up among the eternal snows that she met 
her husband. It was a singular introduction. 
Mrs. Key Pittman was sledging along the Saskatch- 
ewan Trail, en route to her brother's shack, up near 
his claim. She was muffled up in furs and tucked 
cosily in the sledge, when suddenly another dog 

234 



DINNER DELAYS 

team came out of the limitless snows. The trail 
was not wide. The two dog teams were instantly 
in violent conflict, and a man's voice was raised 
in abuse at the driver of her sledge. 

Hearing this, the little lady with her fair face, 
dark eyes, and coquettish dimple sat up and took 
a lead in the conversation. The man was amazed 
and apologetic. He had not expected to encounter 
a woman on that trail. 

So they passed on, each going a separate way. 
At the first relay station, the man inquired as to 
the identity of the girl he had passed. When he 
was told, he suddenly decided to renew acquaint- 
ance with her brother, whom he had previously 
met. So he doubled on his tracks. 

That was the beginning of the Key Pittman 
romance. You know the end. I believe the 
Senator's wife was the heroine of one of Rex 
Beach's novels. However, I want to tell you that 
although Mrs. Key Pittman came from the frozen 
North, she doesn't make a habit of serving frozen 
quail. 



235 



WOMEN IN CONGRESS 

IT'S all right to talk about a "male quartet", 
but ''female quartet" is a horrible phrase. 
However, that's what we have had in Congress, 
so far. 

Jeannette Rankin was the first, the thin edge of 
the wedge, as it were. She forced open the reluc- 
tant door of the House. It wasn't easy, and the 
place was prickly with prejudice when she did 
get inside. 

Jeannette Rankin 
No one does much the first term, and the lady 
from Montana made her d^but when we were face 
to face with the problems of war. Perhaps in 
future years the one thing that will be remembered 
about Miss Rankin will be her tears, when she said: 
"I cannot vote for war!" 
But I want you to remember that Miss Rankin 
was not the only member of Congress who shed 
tears that day. There were men who wept, too. 
Some day, perhaps, that act of womanly weakness 
will not call for disparagement. The world may 
yet become civilized. 

236 



WOMEN IN CONGRESS 

The first Maternity Bill was introduced by Miss 
Rankin, but it never got out of committee. That 
reminds me of the Congressman who was lauding 
the work of a woman's organization in connection 
with this measure. 

"I am glad to see the women taking an active 
part in this/' he said. "I think we should have 
women on committees dealing with maternity and 
other women's diseases." 

I ask you! Yes, we have a number of members 
of that mental tonnage still in the House! 

Alice Robertson 

When Miss Alice Robertson — Aunt Alice of 
Oklahoma — arrived on the scene, many found 
consolation in the thought that mature minds were 
needed in Congress. 

Maturity isn't necessarily a matter of years. 
Age is not always synonymous with wisdom. Some 
things keep growing as long as they live. Take 
the redwoods. Who knows their age? But they 
do sprout new green leaves. 

Senator Lodge says that he made up his mind 
on the suffrage question forty-five years ago. 
Full maturity at thirty! In other words, he hasn't 
learned anything fresh on the subject since. 

237 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

' When Miss Alice arrived in Washington, with 
her white hair screwed in a little bob at the back 
of her head, and her plain dress, the women soon 
learned that she was an anti-suffragist. This gave 
them a sense of uneasiness. The Antis, who 
should have rallied to her support, gave her the 
once over, and fled. She wasn't true to type, not 
the Washington type of Anti. They were mostly 
rich and fashionable. Miss Alice didn't fit into 
that niche; it was far too exclusive, and you know 
that the cafeteria business does not make for 
exclusiveness. But it was a mighty good cafeteria 
that Miss Alice ran, and her doughnuts were almost 
as good as the homemade. 

It's a lonely place for a lone woman, up there on 
Capitol Hill, especially for a simple, homey woman 
like Aunt Alice. She wanted to come back, how- 
ever, but when defeat put her permanently out of 
politics, she went back to the old home town, and 
talked of buying a cow. 

Choosing a cow for company I always felt was 
such a nice compliment to her late colleagues. 

WiNNiFRED Mason Huck 
Enter Winnifred Mason Huck, for the brief, 
unexpired period of her father's term. She had 

238 



WOMEN IN CONGRESS 

been brought up on G. 0. P. traditions, and spent 
her early youth in Washington. 

Her father, William E. Mason, drank deep of 
politics, and wee Winnie licked up the drops. She 
had got the habit early. Her father had a dingy little 
room in the basement, which he called his office, 
but no Democrat ever penetrated to that retreat. 

Nevertheless, there was a certain catholicity in 
the company, for Henry Cabot Lodge, he of the 
unspotted vest and immaculate collar, was one of 
them. Somehow the cleanliness of those Lodge 
vests seemed to make a deep impression on Winni- 
fred, for the contrast between this and her father's 
— ^well, Winnifred was one of seven, and the imprint 
of baby fingers will mar the pristine freshness of 
any vest. 

Robert La Follette was a visitor to that subter- 
ranean office in those far-off days. In fact, they 
both were there at the same time. You know, 
Bob La Follette is considered the Beau Brummel 
of the Senate, now that James Hamilton Lewis 
has departed to practice law in Chicago. 

Exit Winnifred Mason Huck, without having 
set the Potomac on fire. Her time was brief; her 
opportunity scant. I believe in Congress, as in 
golf, the first seven years are the worst. 

239 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Mae Ella Nolan 

And now we have a fourth, Mrs. Mae Ella 
Nolan, who has succeeded her husband as a San 
Francisco member. But she got there in time to 
see the curtain run down for the interlude. Her 
little daughter, however, has already won Con- 
gressional recognition. 

Of the thirty millions of children in the United 
States, only one little girl can boast that her father 
and mother have been elected members of Con- 
gress. That is eight-year-old Corlis Nolan. 

Blue eyes, pink cheeks, curls of red-gold, a white 
dress, and a smashing ribbon bow for scenery — that 
is Corlis Nolan, the daughter of the House. She 
is peculiarly the daughter of the House, because 
almost since her infancy she has been a daily 
visitor upon the floor. The Congressional atmos- 
phere is her native air. Marvelous how she 
thrives on it! No other child in this country has 
been brought into such close touch with members 
of the House, or personally known so many 
prominent men of this generation. 

Scores of other children have appeared with 
their fathers on fete days, when distinguished 
foreign guests were present, or when the President 
came before Congress to read a message, but 

240 



WOMEN IN CONGRESS 

Corlis rarely missed a day. She came to visit her 
daddy — the most wonderful man in the world. 
When her mother took her place among the law- 
makers of the nation, Corlis was by her side, and 
held court on the floor as usual. Her shining curls 
will be the oriflamme to attract many eyes that 
look with real affection upon John Nolan's little 
girl. 

She has coquetted with three Speakers. Among 
her cherished keepsakes are coins presented to 
her by the veteran ex-Speaker, Uncle Joe Cannon, 
who has just retired, after passing his eighty-sixth 
milestone. The beautiful camaraderie which exists 
between the aged and the very young, has always 
marked the friendship of Corlis and Uncle Joe. 

The beloved Speaker, Champ Clark, frequently 
held her upon his knee, and when she could wield 
the gravel, with which he subdued refractory legis- 
lators, he permitted her to hold it, and to preside 
over the House. 

Speaker Gillett has also fallen a victim to her 
wiles, but the fact that she is now ''going on nine'* 
makes her rather shy about accepting advances. 

When General Joffre was received by the House, 
Corlis was presented to him by her daddy. And 
the wonderful old French warrior took her up in 

16 241 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

his arms and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. 
CorHs can point to the exact spots — ^just above the 
dimples. 

Upon another great day, she was sitting on her 
father's knee in the House, when the Queen of the 
Belgians, from her place of honor in the gallery, 
was struck by the childish charm, and summoned 
her for a gracious royal greeting. 

"Where do you live, my dear?" inquired Her 
Majesty. 

When the little girl explained that San Francisco 
was her home, the Queen exclaimed, "Oh, then 
you must be the little girl who brought the sun- 
shine to California!" 

To Corlis she was just "a pretty lady", but the 
father's heart swelled with pride that his idolized 
one had received such recognition. 

Major Charles Manly Stedman of North Caro- 
lina, the only Confederate veteran in Congress, 
who was a member of General Robert E. Lee's 
staff, was inclined to be jealous of the venerable 
Joe Cannon. With true Southern chivalry he 
indited love missives to the fair Corlis. 

Judge Warren Gard of Ohio, who sustained a 
reputation for being the most dignified member of 
the House, also capitulated to John Nolan's little 

242 



WOMEN IN CONGRESS 

girl, and marked her birthday anniversaries by the 
presentation of candies and flowers. 

Corhs always pronounced his name like that of 
the Deity — God — and when told in Sunday school 
that God was in heaven, she disputed the fact, and 
appealed to her mother to confirm her declaration 
that God (Gard) lived at Congress Hall Hotel. 

No one can guess how long the vivid personality 
of this child will continue to illumine the pages of 
official history. But in any case, what a story of 
her childhood she will have to tell to her grand- 
children! 



243 



MRS. HERBERT HOOVER 

I WANT to be a background for Bertie!'* 
How is that for wifely ambition in these 
progressive days? That is Mrs. Herbert 
Hoover's avowed job in life. I wonder how many 
other women want to be ''a background for 
Bertie". Figuratively speaking, there are quite a 
number of Berties being quite obscured. Just the 
other day a man died, and the newspapers put up 
the heading in large letters, "Mrs. So-and-So's 
Husband Dies." 

Mrs. Hoover, however, has achieved much more 
than that. She is not the shadowy setting to a 
vigorous character. There is too much ability 
to be submerged. No matter how much she may 
try to paint herself as a background, individuality 
etches a definite picture of the woman herself. 

Being a Cabinet hostess doesn't seem to have 
dazzled her, nor has it changed her antipathy to 
publicity. Bertie doesn't share this, of course. 
No one realizes better than he what the newspapers 
have contributed to his career. His name is an 
open sesame to the news columns. 

244 




Harris iSc Swing 



MRS. HERBERT HOOVER 



MRS. HERBERT HOOVER 

Somewhere, sometime, in her Western ranch 
life, she must have imbibed Indian lore — imbibed 
deeply — and become thoroughly imbued with the 
Indian's gift of stoicism. At will, her face is as 
inscrutable as the Sphinx. She isn't disturbed by 
the stress and surge of public life. Even when 
speaking publicly, she is self-possessed. But, 
frankly, speaking isn't her strong point. 

Lou Hoover's whole plan of life has been rather 
unusual. Through most of her impressionable 
years, she enjoyed a boy's freedom, and camp and 
ranch figured largely on her map. 

She adds one more to the small town women in 
public life, for she was brought up in Monterey, 
the capital of that old Spanish province of Alta, 
California, where her father was cashier of the 
local bank. After the local high school. Miss Lou 
Henry, as she then was, went to Stanford Univer- 
sity, where she took the same course of study as 
young Herbert Hoover. Bertie was working his 
way through college by doing part time in 
the college laundry. That's where he learned 
Hooverizing. 

She set a lively pace for the youth, and passed 
higher examinations than he. Lou answered the 
call of the wild. This spirit of adventure un- 

247 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

doubtedly had much to do with her choice of 
engineering as a profession. When she had to 
make decisions she sidestepped all the careers 
usually followed by the petticoats. Her soul 
yearned for the freedom of the great outdoors and 
a pair of trousers. So in due course, she walked 
out of the University with a mining engineer's 
diploma under her arm. 

Neither Lou nor Bertie ever had any other love. 

The Hoovers were Quakers, and Bertie had to 
wrestle with his conscience before he could justify 
himself in the subterfuge of learning to dance, in 
order to court Lou Henry, and warn off intruders 
at the college festivities. The Quaker conscience 
still exerts itself at times. 

It wasn't a school engagement — in fact there 
wasn't an engagement at all. As soon as Herbert 
Hoover got a job, he wired for Lou to come on 
and yoke up in double harness. And she came. 

They have roamed the world together, these two. 
The Orient and the Occident are an open book to 
Mrs. Hoover. She doesn't travel as a tourist 
following a guide book, content with the super- 
ficial, but delves deeply into the hearts of the 
peoples — their customs, habits, traditions. She 
doesn't need a Pullman for pleasure either. Few 

248 



MRS. HERBERT HOOVER 

women, or men, know the secrets of camping, 
traveling, and living in the open as she does, and 
her receptive mind is a storehouse rich in nature 
lore. 

But these outdoor accomplishments have not 
hindered her indoor development, nor has the sun- 
shine of prosperity freckled her soul. She has 
weathered social seasons in London, New York, 
Washington, and elsewhere, but she is quite as 
much at home in the jungle. 

" If you want to conserve anything, page Herbert 
Hoover!" is the cry that so many raise. 

That's quite right. But when you page Bertie, 
you always find his wife supporting his right flank, 
not in picturesque pose, but with her sleeves rolled 
up for the job. 

Mr. Hoover is strong on cooperation. A lot of 
people think that his idea of cooperation means all 
getting together and doing what he wants. 

Mrs. Hoover was with her husband through the 
stirring scenes in the Boxer rebellion, and he was 
never short of a reliable lieutenant. 

I remember an incident she told me about this 
expedition. The Germans had stolen a calf. It 
happened to be this calf's mother on which the 
Hoover baby was dependent for milk. The cow, 

249 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

with true maternal instinct, mourned its offspring. 
It was fretting. So the Hoovers sent word that 
the cow was distraught over the loss of the calf, 
and entreated its return. The Germans were 
apparently very much touched over the grief of 
the cow, and decided on a reunion of the unhappy 
bovine family. That night they came and took 
the cow. 

Mrs. Hoover tried her hand at writing, but her 
most ambitious undertaking was the translation 
of an abstruse old book on mines and metallurgy, 
which had never been translated. She started it, 
but Bertie soon took a hand in it. 

This was after the family had established them- 
selves in London, at the Red House in Hornton 
Street. This was a rendezvous for all good Ameri- 
cans in London. 

One night, I remember, she had invited a group 
of Americans to be her guests at the Rheingold 
Cycle of Operas, which began at four o'clock in 
the afternoon, with an hour's interval for din- 
ner. Mrs. Hoover was there for the first act, 
and to see her guests to the dinner table at the 
Hotel Savoy; then she disappeared, to return at 
the rise of the curtain. Naturally, her guests 
were curious, but no one asked why. It was 

250 



MRS. HERBERT HOOVER 

Mary Austin, the novelist, who let the cat out of 
the bag. She couldn't resist the novelist's delight 
in telling a good story. Here was this well-dressed 
millionaire's wife slipping home between the acts 
of the opera. What for? To hear her children 
say their prayers. 

Out of respect for her husband's Quaker taste, 
Mrs. Hoover dresses quietly. At that time she 
wore no jewels, but she finally appeared in some 
beautiful pearls. But she bars diamonds. 

The Hoovers weren't particularly successful in 
a social way in London. Mr. Hoover thought 
London society snobbish, and his Quaker spirit 
rebelled at the formalities of dress and behavior. 
It was a long time before he would submit to the 
indignity of a silk hat, which, of course, is strictly 
prescribed for afternoon dress in London. He 
never lost the look of resentment at being thus 
crowned, and his hat seemed always at variance — 
it never looked at home on his head. 

Herbert Hoover couldn't get over his American 
habit of putting his hands in his pockets and 
jingling whatever he found there, and all London 
can testify that those pockets were never empty. 

Social success lies largely in choosing your 
guests. You can't mix pickles and pie. Mrs. 

251 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Hoover could always get interesting people to her 
dinners, but she had much sympathy for the forlorn 
and overlooked, who didn't know even the near- 
great. So she weighted her invitation list rather 
heavily with these. They liked meeting celebrities, 
but the distinguished guests weren't always so 
enthusiastic about the dull company. The Hoover 
dinners were often a dud. 

It wasn't until the Belgian Relief brought out 
Mr. Hoover's real qualities that they got into 
London society. Even when the last slip rail was 
taken down in London, they found a fence across 
Park Avenue. There are so many people who 
would never be caught afoot south of Fifty-ninth 
Street, who went about inquiring, "Who are the 
Hoovers, anyway?" 

The Hoovers have always fared well at the hands 
of the Fourth Estate. They actually treated news- 
paper men and women as if they were human. 
It wasn't meant as such, but it was like taking out 
an insurance policy. Whenever there was an 
attempt to throw mud at the Hoovers, through the 
press, a loyal battalion of newspaper men and 
women rose and defeated it. One group, jealous 
of the Hoover headlines, tried to discredit him. 
They had been associated with the Belgian Relief, 

252 



MRS. HERBERT ITOOVER 

but a chain of newspaper men and women 
checked it. 

The Hoovers might have done better for them- 
selves socially if they had known how. But they 
were scared. Original ideas were suspected, and 
things unconventional were awfully dangerous. 
The courage of the outdoors didn't extend to social 
explorations. They were timid of the new. Even 
suffrage was not countenanced by Mrs. Hoover 
after Bertie had committed himself openly to the 
principle. In fact, when Anne Martin, an old 
college chum, joined Alice Paul's organization in 
Washington, it made a permanent breach between 
them. Later she could make up with the more 
conservative, but not rapidly enough to help 
Bertie's candidacy for President. 

It seems funny now to recall how disconcerted 
Mrs. Hoover was when Mary Austin dedicated 
A Woman of Genius to her. In this novel an 
actress goes to Europe with a mining engineer, 
without being willing to marry him. Tut! tut! 
None of them, not even Mrs. Hoover, foresaw the 
flood of free speaking in American fiction. '..Mrs. 
Austin's book now seems almost Quakerishly con- 
ventional in view of present standards. 

The two Hoover sons are following the outdoor 

253 



A 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

trail, and even in the midst of war-time activities, 
Saturday was for the boys and the wilds. And 
sometimes Bertie was dragged away from his desk 
to join in the expedition. 

"She's better than most men in a camp, and 
she isn't afraid of things that crawl," was the 
tribute from one small son. 

There has always been Hooverizing in the 
Hoover home, and it wasn't a war-time innovation. 
They all did it, Bertie, the Background, and the 
Boys. 



254 



BACK TO MAIN STREET 

WHEN about a third of the House is de- 
feated, it means a lot of new faces in 
Washington. But that is all, so far as 
the public is concerned. It is a very different 
proposition, however, with the men themselves, 
and there are a lot of weeping v/illows among the 
wives. 

You can take it from me that the English lan- 
guage doesn't hold words superlative enough to 
describe the feelings with which Mrs. Mondell went 
back to Newcastle, Wyoming; nor those with 
which Mrs. Pitt Campbell hotfooted it for Pitts- 
burg, Kansas, and the Copleys settled down to 
the social amenities of Aurora, Illinois. 

Mrs. Frank Wheeler Mondell 
The Mondells, Frank and Mrs. Frank, came to 
Washington more than a quarter of a century ago, 
and that is a long time to be away from Wyoming. 
I've serious doubts whether or not he could rope 
a steer; and I am certain she has forgotten how to 
make prairie butter. 

255 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

Newcastle, Wyoming, is a little coal town in 
eastern Wyoming, and for the first two or three 
terms of office, Mrs. Mondell kept thinking it was 
still home. After that, it began to seep into her 
active mind that her real home should be Wash- 
ington. So she came right on. 

Soon Newcastle began to recede into the back- 
ground, and Mrs. Mondell paid the proper calls 
and accepted invitations; and entertaining on a 
gradually increasing scale followed. The Mon- 
dells played the game according to the Congres- 
sional Hoyle, and were popular accordingly. 

Every year the Eastern veneer grew a little 
thicker, and the pretty daughter is wholly an 
Eastern product. At the annual meeting of the 
Native Daughters of Wyoming, Miss Mondell 
simply doesn't belong. 

But more fatal is the lorgnette habit — when 
constituents come to town — or the "Here's your 
hat, what's your hurry?" attitude. 

Some constituents, of course, like to see their 
Representatives grazing in the best pastures, and 
it is a matter of pride that they are among the 
socially elect. It does the state proud, and reflects 
glory on the electors. But a lot of people don't 
like that kind of reflected glory. 

256 



BACK TO MAIN STREET 

Mrs. Philip Pitt Campbell 

The defeat of Philip Pitt Campbell, Chairman 
of the Rules Committee, whose pocket vetoes put 
the finish on his political career — at least for the 
time — removes a picturesque figure. He was born 
in Nova Scotia, and claims descent from the great 
Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and Colin Campbell of 
''The Campbells Are Comin' " clan. 

In his early youth, some one told him he looked 
like Bobby Burns, and ever since he has worn his 
little curl right in the middle of his forehead. It's 
not a curl, really, but a good old-time forelock. 

Some other flatterer or job seeker told him that 
he looked like George Arliss' impersonation of 
Disraeli. He always looks convinced that the 
ladies find him irresistible — a pleasant delusion in 
many male minds. He always wears a stock, even 
in summer, and it makes him as conspicuous as 
the pillory did our undesirable ancestors. He 
speaks well, whether he has anything to say or not. 
He has a delightful family of a wife and three 
daughters, and they all bum incense before the 
head of the house. 

Long years ago, when they came to Washington, 
Mrs. Campbell wanted a permanent home, so they 
bought a ramshackle old house in Virginia, and 

17 257 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

renovated it into a charming residence. This 
ancestral home counted against them last election. 
Kansas is rigidly Republican in its traditions, and 
it didn't want a Congressman who had been con- 
verted into one of the Last Families of Virginia. 
Kansas found that the old song had been reversed. 
"The Campbells Weren't Comin' " as long as 
there was anywhere else to go. 

So the Campbell constituents rose up and 
declared that the town wasn't named for him, and 
they proceeded to take the Pitt out of Pittsburg. 

Mrs. Campbell may have dropped a tear or two 
in the Potomac, but no one was drowned in the 
flood. Philip Pitt Campbell could make a good 
living teaching husbands how to convince wives 
that they are perfect. 

Miss Volstead 

Probably Volstead, who is known as the 
''Sphinx", will miss getting on the front page, but 
nobody will know it. But his name will never be 
forgotten. The Wets and the Drys will both 
remember him; the one to revere, and the other 
to revile. 

Miss Volstead didn't go in for social stunts. She 
browsed on law books, and has now hung out her 

258 



BACK TO MAIN STREET 

shingle. I don't think she will have long to wait 
for clients. 

Mrs. Wells Goodykoontz 
The Goodykoontzes hadn't been here very long, 
but long enough to acquire a taste for Washington 
fare. I don't think they were pining for the flesh- 
pots of Williamson, West Virginia. The Raleigh 
chicken a la king was good enough for them. 
Some of her friends say that Mrs. Goodykoontz 
would rather pour tea at a small function in Wash- 
ington than be guest of honor at the biggest 
reception in Williamson. 

Mrs. Edgar Clarence Ellis 

There are the Ellises of Kansas City, Missouri. 
Not that they were so deeply rooted in Wash- 
ington either. They were both mad about going 
back to the home to wn . I heard a man say one day : 

" To hear Ellis talk, you'd think he had been on 
the Lafayette reception committee, and laid the 
comer stone of the Washington Monument." 

He has had a sort of "In again, Finnegan; gone 
again, Lonergan", experience. He was in with 
Roosevelt, then out, then back on the Harding 
landslide, and now he is out again. 

Mrs. Ellis made all the calls that anybody ever 

259 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

made, and some that anybody who knows the ropes 
never thinks of making. She went everywhere, did 
everything, and was interested in all that was going 
on. If you like people, you say that that is merely 
doing the right thing. Those who are preju- 
diced, sniff and say that it is pushful. You know, 
you can't always please everybody. 

Like so many others, the Ellises went home via 
the Panama Canal — official rates. 

Mrs. William Wallace Chalmers 
The Chalmerses of Ohio are different, at least 
she is. Mrs. Chalmers could skate scallops all 
round him. He is awfully courageous; or would 
we merely say that he would bluff on a two-spot? 
But whatever she undertakes she does better than 
lots of professionals. She can embroider, sew, 
write, but she doesn't take society as if it were 
the serious business of life. Between ourselves, 
I often wonder how she stands his attempts to be 
"the life of the party". At dances, with elephan- 
tine humor, he seems to think it witty to revert to 
pre-Civil War style, and call out ''Swing the girl 
with the red dress on ! " or " Sashay all ! "or " Grand 
right and left!" and pay no attention to the 
whistle. 

260 




Harris it Euing 



PRINCESS CANTACUZENE 



BACK TO INIAIN STREET 

Fancy, General Sherwood, who defeated him, is 
eighty-eight years old. 

Defeat hit Chandler of New York. He has been 
one of the eligible old bachelors of Congress, and a 
rather conspicuous figure in various fields. He 
has written a two-volume treatise and lectured all 
over the country on "The Trial of Christ from a 
Lawyer's Standpoint". 

The Y. M. C. A. sent him over to entertain the 
boys during the War. When he came back, he 
was wearing a decoration which he said came from 
the University of Bonn. 

"How appropriate!" said one of his confreres. 
"He has a good education, speaks French like a 
native, but hasn't a lick of sense." 

The Chandler specialty was flappers, and vari- 
ous managing mothers tried to land him. When 
Representative Dennison of Illinois bought a car, 
and rather cut in on the Chandler game. Chandler 
got a car, too, and broke all the traffic rules, and 
nearly broke his own neck. Then he got a 
chauffeur. 

One day the wife of another Congressman was 
driving him and she asked, "Where to?" 

With fatuous wit he replied, "Wherever you 
think I ought to go." 

263 



BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON 

She took him out to St. Elizabeth's mental 
hospital. 

Once, when the Princess Cantacuzene was 
invited to speak at the regular Sunday night enter- 
tainment in Congress Hall, Chandler asked her to 
be his guest at dinner. He had four other guests, 
another Congressman and his wife, a young girl 
to whom he was paying marked attention, and 
her father. 

When dinner was served, he escorted the flapper, 
and left the Princess to follow. Fortunately, she 
was a homegrown princess, and survived the 
experience. 

Most of the defeated Senators are rich enough 
to go where they please, but nine-tenths of the 
Congressmen will have to return to Main Street, 
unpaved, unsprinkled Main Street, looking as if 
it should be spelled without even a capital letter. 



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